


Of all the Lord's Creations...

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Anal Sex, Angel Bucky Barnes, Canon Disabled Character, Demon Tony Stark, Extortion, Frottage, Gabriel's kinda a dick, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Recovery, Tail Kink, Tony is a lube ninja, Wing Kink, Wrestling, a wide variety of semi-accurate christian mythology, and some very inaccurate stuff, and you're all coming with us, sin and temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony's pretty sure that corrupting an angel will get him back into Lucifer's good graces, and Bucky's gorgeous enough that seducing him won't even be a hardship. Bucky's on Earth to do good, which is what he was made for, but it's a little lonely. Surely it couldn't hurt just totalkto the fascinating demon that he happens to meet...





	1. Chapter 1

Tony was going to be in trouble soon, if he wasn’t already. In very hot water -- and in Tony’s case, that might be literal, if the Boss was peeved enough.

He’d lost his taste for partying and booze and drugs, and that was fine -- it was getting harder and harder to really corrupt someone with those anyway, and he’d landed a cushy gig inspiring weapons makers to newer and greater heights, destroying souls by the thousands, _tens_ of thousands.

But it was so hands-off. So distasteful. He’d fallen down on _that_ job, too.

And worst of all, he’d actually _saved_ that child, the other week. So he had a soft spot for children. Sue him.

But it all added up to one thing: he had to earn some points with the Boss, and _soon_.

Pepper, his lesser demonic cohort (she refused to accept minion as her designation, and that was only fair really) consulted a clipboard. “I have it, Tony,” she said. “There’s a kid, out in Queens, he grows up to be a superhero; Clotho is all over that… We could corrupt him, that’d be… that’d be big. I mean, just think what a new supervillain on the scene would be worth.”

Tony glared at her. “Do I even _know_ you?”

Pepper scowled. “Um, well, there’s that scandal,” she suggested. “The one we’ve all been sitting on, those letters for the potential saint, Margaret Carter? We could release those, put a real wrench in her canonization.”

“Ehhh. I don’t think they’re going to be enough to stop it. Just slow it down a little.”

“How about this, then--” Pepper thumbed through the Infernal News and Reports. “It’s a toughie. Maybe it’s just what you need, something to really sink your teeth into.”

Tony licked at his fangs. “Maybe. What’ve you got?”

“There’s an angel, on earth,” Pepper said. “He’s in trouble, halo’s a little bent. Gabriel’s dumped him in New York City, with instructions to do some major miracle work. But you know how angels are… lotta faith, very little street smarts.”

Tony sat up straight. “You’re shitting me. Seriously, an _angel_?” There hadn’t been a new Fallen in _centuries_. Corrupting an angel would _cover_ Tony with glory. So to speak. “New York City, hm?” He grinned. “Now that. _That_ is a worthy job. Get the relocation paperwork going, but keep it on the down-low. I don’t want anyone else muscling in before I get my turn.”

The problem with miracles is that they required _faith_. Faith, not _proof_.

There were a lot of things that Bucky could do… the loaves and fishes trick had always been popular.

Even though there wasn’t actually a food shortage on the planet these days. More like a supply problem, and it was beyond even Bucky’s ability to miracle his way through red tape.

So far, he’d been reduced to influencing _luck_. Which was, honestly, shitty miracle work. A homeless guy tripping over a winning lottery ticket didn’t praise or thank the Lord. In fact -- Bucky sighed -- they usually ended up in _worse_ trouble.

Humans could only see him at all if they had high faith, or when he was in a human vessel. So, every morning, Bucky slipped into his vessel and tried to figure a way to get back into the Lord’s good Graces. Working at the soup kitchen wasn’t glamorous, but it did let him slip in some minor miracles; increasing the amount of soup, making what soups they did have more nourishing. A little healing touch, here and there. New York City had some of the nicest fall weather in a long time, letting the homeless stay warmer, longer.

It wasn’t much, but Bucky was still waiting for some Divine Inspiration.

If nothing else, earth was at least more interesting than Heaven. He didn’t much miss it, although he sometimes missed being able to talk to someone who actually knew who he was. Humans… didn’t listen. They just sort of waited for their turn to talk.

It was dark by the time Bucky left the soup kitchen, and as he crossed the street, a dark, slender figure detached itself from the alley wall. “Hey there, angelface.”

Bucky squinted into the darkness; the shadows seemed to cling to the stranger with loving hands. “The Lord be with you, friend,” Bucky said. It was a good, solid earth greeting. Those with no faith would rapidly make their excuses to be elsewhere, and those with faith would find a few moments with a comforting ear.

“I very much doubt it,” the stranger said as he took another step closer to Bucky. The shadows spread behind him like stretching wings. “Going my way?”

There was something about the stranger that sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine. He’d obviously been associating with humans too often if one could cause such a reaction. He took a step closer, trying to see the face behind the shadow. He couldn’t, which was odd. Absently, Bucky plucked his halo out of the pocket of the coat he wore; not like he got cold, but the pockets were useful.

To human eyes, Bucky would have merely run a hand through his hair. In truth, his halo was a bit lopsided, tilted at a rakish angle over his left eye, and pretty badly dinged up. It didn’t shine as much as it used to. Bucky blamed the Internet. Heaven was just so boring, and when he got caught sneaking down to earth from time to time -- he was almost current with _Game of Thrones_ \-- he got an angelic time out.

Seen with Heavenly light, the stranger’s face--

\--was not at all human, under the human vessel he wore. The demon was beautiful, despite the shattered remains of his halo that made up what humans saw as horns, and the devastation of his wings. His face was angular and long, his beard trimmed into a neat, sharp point, his eyes deceptively warm and welcoming, his smile -- what else? -- wicked. “Ah, _there_ you are,” he purred, and eyed Bucky’s halo and wings with a hungry expression. “That poor thing’s about to Fall,” he added. “You might want to have a friend ready to catch it.”

“I’m _fine_ , thanks for your concern,” Bucky said, a little stiffly. It wasn’t his fault that Steve had been promoted years ago, and that Bucky didn’t really have any friends left. Steve tried to visit, as often as he could, but seraphim had busy schedules. He eyed the demon, curious. “I didn’t know they let your kind out of Hell.” He took a step closer, fascinated. The wings were short, stubby things that protruded out of the creature’s back, but he’d heard rumors that they had… oh, there it was, curled around the demon’s leg. A tail, long and as swift-moving as a cat’s. Bucky had a sudden urge to touch it.

“Aw, now, don’t be like that,” the demon said. “Of course they let me out. I’m Fallen, not _damned_.” He smiled again, charming and surprisingly sweet.

Bucky was a relatively young angel; the War had been long over before he’d come into existence. He’d never actually _seen_ a Fallen, before, much less spoken to one. “Did it hurt,” Bucky wondered, “when you Fell?”

The demon laughed outright, and it didn’t sound evil or condescending, just... happy. “All right, you win that round,” he said after a moment, still chuckling around the words. “It’s been a long time since someone surprised me like that.” His head tipped, just a little, showing off a long throat. “Come and have a drink with me, angel. It gets lonely here, with only humans around.”

Well, Bucky could agree with that. It’d been a while since he’d had anyone to talk to. Gabriel totally didn’t count. The archangel just showed up to sneer and scold. Bucky wasn’t supposed to socialize with demons, but… he had to admit, he was curious. And Bucky was tough; of the line of Samael, who once wrestled a human during the entire night. He absolutely wasn’t afraid. “Do you have a name that I might call you?”

“Call me Tony,” said the demon. “And who are you?”

“Tony,” Bucky said, tasting the word, sounding it out, figuring the flavor and all the meanings. Layers of power, in a name. Except this one was obscured, the meaning lost. Bucky grappled for it, and it faded. He couldn’t hold it, there was no way for him to grip the name, to have any control over the demon. He was strong, then. Ancient. He hesitated over giving his own name, but it would be rude. And Bucky wasn’t scared of a demon. The Lord was on his side. Theoretically, at least. Bucky’d never actually met Him, either. “It’s Bucky. My… my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky.” Tony smiled. “So delighted to meet you, Bucky.” He tucked his arm through Bucky’s and gently tugged, leading the way up the street, toward a bar. “This will be the first proper conversation I’ve had since I got here.” He sounded thoroughly happy about it, and his tail... his tail was curling gently around Bucky’s calf.

“Oh!” Bucky shivered again, and… with a crack like a whip, his wings stretching out to their full span, involuntarily, the feathers spreading protectively. “Oh, that’s your… I’m sorry, I… you startled me.” Bucky’s skin felt strange, tingly, from where the tail had touched him, and then his neck got too warm, and his cheeks were heated, and his tongue felt a little too large for his mouth, awkward and thick. He fanned himself with his wings, cooling his overheated skin, and then pulling them in tight, folded against his back.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, gorgeous.” Tony grabbed his tail and dragged it away from Bucky with both hands. “It has a mind of its own, sometimes. Though I must say it’s got excellent taste.” Tony watched Bucky’s wings until they were folded away again, then tore his gaze up to Bucky’s face. “Let’s get that drink, shall we?” He pushed open the door to the bar.

It was dark inside, lit with low, neon lights and the occasional strobe from the dance floor. The music was loud, the place crowded. The crowds parted for Tony like the sea before Moses, though, until they wound up in a smaller, somewhat quieter space to one side, plush and luxurious. Tony folded onto the well-padded bench seat, and patted the space beside him invitingly.

It wasn’t hard to follow, the demon’s tail wasn’t the only interesting thing about the view from behind. Bucky found himself staring, and not even knowing why, just that the demon…

...represented the ultimate temptation.

Bucky would do well to remember that. He took the seat across from Tony, instead. Not that it was much better, their legs bumping under the table, and the demon’s mobile mouth drawing Bucky’s gaze instead. “How… have you been on earth, long?”

“It seems like forever,” Tony sighed. “How about you, Bucky? I understand you’re fairly new here.”

“Well, I used to sneak down, sometimes, too,” Bucky admitted. “So… two weeks, plus an hour here and there. Usually to watch television.” He couldn’t help the shy smile that crossed his lips. The very few conversations he’d had that humans responded to favorably, had been about shows. “Some of the older angels, they have access to human entertainment, but… our guardian doesn’t allow it. It’s bad for us, keeps our thoughts away from the Lord.” Bucky puffed out a breath, absently grabbed hold of his pinion feathers and ran his fingers over them. A nervous habit.

“Oh, I knew you’d be good to talk to,” Tony said. “I _love_ TV, and we don’t get most of it, you know, Downstairs. What shows do you like?”

“Oh, anything with old-fashioned fighting,” Bucky said, dreamily. “Swords and massive armies and honor. Humans don’t fight that way, anymore. It’s a shame, really.” Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he watched those shows; humans were so… very _physical_ , both in love and in war.

Bucky found himself leaning across the table, as the night went on. Drinks were brought, consumed, paid for. Tony talked, and _listened_. He shared insights, and his sense of humor was delightfully wicked, pointedly observant, and he was quick with a clever phrase. Bucky wasn’t even sure that he noticed when Tony’s tail had stopped playfully teasing at Bucky’s calf and was, instead, laying in Bucky’s lap, letting itself be petted like a cat.

He barely noticed the passing of time at all, until the bar started to close down, and they were given the same speech as the rest of the humans that is was time to leave.

“Well,” Bucky said, as they staggered out onto the street, human vessels dizzy with alcohol, “this was… educational.”

“It was _marvelous_ ,” Tony enthused. “Thank you so much for spending the evening with me.” He hesitated. “I wonder if I could... well, it’s a silly thing, really, but it would mean a lot to me.”

“Hmm? What’s that?” The stars were spinning in the sky. Bucky could focus on an individual star, far away, and see the planets that went around it. Fascinating. “I’m listening, go on.”

Tony smiled a self-deprecating little smile. “Could I just... touch your wings? I miss mine so much.”

“What? Oh… yeah, I… sure,” Bucky stammered. No one touched wings, it just… wasn’t done. Sometimes, Bucky couldn’t help it, in a crowded area, it was hard to avoid brushing another angel’s wings, but it wasn’t a _deliberate_ act. It was almost like touching someone’s halo, the very symbol of their relationship with the Lord.

But he’d been petting Tony’s tail all night and it seemed somehow… snobby, almost priggish, not to allow him the liberty.

Bucky spread, his wings unfolding gently. As dark as it was, now, they gave off their own, soft light. A little hop up, and the Grace took hold. Bucky hovered, a few inches over the ground, toes pointing down and all the weight of the human vessel falling away.

Tony just stared up at him for a long minute, his eyes liquid and wide. “You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. He stepped forward until his body was all but pressed against Bucky’s, and he looked up into Bucky’s face as he reached over Bucky’s shoulders to lightly caress the thick feathers. “Oh, that feels...”

He’d never felt anything like it; each stroke of Tony’s fingers sent spirals of sensation down his wings, into his very flesh. Bucky reared back, startled at how… good it felt, how soft and how soothing, and yet, it burned in him, like fire. His wings arched out, shuddered all over, and then, instinctively, he mantled, pulling Tony in close and covering them both with the protective shell. Inside, drenched in the holy light of Bucky’s wings, in the perfect Grace of his halo, _Tony_ was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen.

“Oh! _Oh_!” Bucky wasn’t sure what to do, everything seemed very… awkward.

Tony’s tail ruffled the feathers enclosing them, and _that_ sent delicious sparks through Bucky’s body. “Bucky,” Tony murmured, “let me kiss you?” He lifted up onto his toes, his head tipped back, until his breath spilled over Bucky’s lips. Bucky wanted, wanted _something_ that he couldn’t name, but Tony was hesitating, waiting.

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Bucky whispered. But surrounded by the heat and scent of the demon, Bucky couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea. It certainly _sounded_ interesting. His mouth tingled, and he licked his lip. He remembered watching dozens of kisses on television, each time he would pluck at his pinions and shiver with delight. They seemed to enjoy it, so much. And Bucky had rarely so much as touched another angel. Sometimes, very close friends would touch fingertips or palms and even that seemed… greatly _daring_. Angels didn’t have bodies, except to serve the Lord.

Well, if his body’s purpose was only to serve the Lord, maybe this would be the way, Bucky thought, suddenly. “Yes, why don’t you do that,” he suggested. “Kiss me.”

Tony’s mouth touched Bucky’s, and it wasn’t at all like he had imagined, watching humans kiss on the television. It was so much _more_ , the gentle brush of skin on skin and the warmth of Tony’s breath and the scent of him and the _taste_ , somehow, of the drinks they’d consumed but also something more, something indescribably sweet and maybe a little sad. _Oh_ , and Tony’s hands were still in Bucky’s wings, deeper now, curling around the shafts and stroking them.

Bucky didn’t know what to do, he really did not, and it was so good, and so _wicked_ , and Gabriel would be so _angry_ , and… Bucky wrenched his mouth away, panting for breath, wings shuddering all over, and his halo was _glowing._ “Tony, wait, no,” Bucky said, and he tried to back up, but Tony’s hands were still on him and he didn’t want to hurt Tony, didn’t want to… didn’t really want to stop, but he should. He really, _really_ should. Resolve wavered in him, and then solidified. “Tony, wait, I need… I need you to stop.”

Tony didn’t stop for a few seconds longer, and then he pulled away, looking hurt and confused. “What’s wrong? Did it-- did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it didn’t hurt,” Bucky reassured him, hastily, and he realized he was still holding Tony in, wings still sheltering them both. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m… you… I…” He pulled his wings back, slowly. Let himself touch the ground, and all the weight and burden that came with it, drawing up his human vessel and letting the light from his halo flicker, putting it back in his pocket. “This… this isn’t what I came to earth to do. Not… I’m an angel. This… you… I’m here to _help people_.” He couldn’t help it, brushed the very tip of his wing down the side of Tony’s face before he tucked it away.

“There’s no one here who needs help right now,” Tony said, swaying toward Bucky. Then his eyes widened. “It’s because I’m Fallen, isn’t it?” His tail snapped back, away from where it had been curling up the side of Bucky’s leg again. “I must be repulsive to you.”

“No, no,” Bucky protested. “You’re not. I promise. You’re so… lovely. _Interesting_.” Bucky found himself twisting his feathers again, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bend the delicate vanes. He squeaked, let go of his wing and patted at it, soothingly. “It’s _me_ , I’m… this.” It’s wrong, it’s sin, it’s… _selfish_. Bucky berated himself. “I need to go. This was… incredible. I’ll treasure… I have to go.”

Bucky gripped his halo and willed himself to the small sanctuary he’d claimed, holy ground. Home. An abandoned church that had never been deconsecrated. Where he could rest and hide. And pray.

Even if he didn’t know what he was praying _for_.    

Tony made his way back to the bar, long closed now, and made himself at home in the VIP lounge. So much sin in this place -- lust and greed and intemperance and pride. Occasional splashes of hatred and disobedience and idolatry, for flavor. It was such a delicious place.

And Tony’d had such a _wonderful_ evening. He’d lured the angel as far as a _kiss_ , already. The whole thing would barely take any time at all.

Bucky. Such a sweet name, such a trusting creature to give it to an old demon like Tony. It was a name that tasted of strength, and of youth. Bucky was too young to have known the War -- did it _hurt_ , indeed!

Sweet, naive creature. He’d even let Tony touch his feathers -- bittersweet, that; he hadn’t lied about missing his own wings. Tony could almost feel bad for what he was going to do to the angel. Almost.

The next night, he made his way through the shadows to the building where Bucky worked his small miracles. Tony wondered if those miracles had stuttered, when Bucky thought about Tony’s lips on his.

Bucky was late coming out, later than before, and Tony smiled, imagining Bucky debating whether he should emerge at all. Whether he hoped to see Tony again, or dreaded it. Tony waited patiently for the inevitable.

When Bucky finally came out, Tony stepped into his path. “Angel.”

Tony had seen Bucky in all his glory and grace -- well, the human version. Some angels could become wheels within wheels, the size of buildings in their magnificence, but Bucky didn’t seem like that sort. And yet, he was utterly unprepared for the young angel to smile at him. Bucky’s whole face lit up, not a holy glow, or even the mysterious angelic phosphorus of Bucky’s wings, but just… joy. There wasn’t an ounce of deception in the celestial nature, so he couldn’t be _lying_ , even with something as simple as a smile.

Bucky was, quite honestly, happy to see him.

“Tony,” Bucky exclaimed, and held out his hands in a greeting, inviting Tony to touch his palm.

It wasn’t a kiss, but it was fairly intimate, for angels -- a gesture for kin and close friends. Equals. Tony touched his palm to Bucky’s in the ancient greeting, then curled his fingers around Bucky’s, squeezing a little. “I’m glad to see you, Bucky.” Tony couldn’t control an angel with their name the way he could a human, but it still set up a resonance that Bucky would feel, each time Tony said it.

“I am gladdened to see you, too,” Bucky said. “It’s been a very exciting day. I might have overdone it a little. Come on, let’s go, before anyone else _sees_ me.” He laughed, light and pleasant and actually bumped Tony’s shoulder with his own, the edges of his wing brushing against Tony’s neck and side. “There’s got to be something we can do, yes? I haven’t seen much of the city, really, and I’m just... excited. Oh!” He grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled him down a side road. “Reporter! Mustn’t get caught, you know. Faith, not proof. Can you fly?”

Tony couldn’t precisely fly, but he could be anywhere he wanted to be if he concentrated hard enough. “No,” he said, and let his lips pull into a teasing smile. “Are you going to carry me?”

“If you wish it,” Bucky said. He considered Tony for a long moment, hiding in the mouth of some filthy alley, and then, “here, turn ‘round, like… oh, these really look terribly painful, I’m so sorry.” Bucky brushed his fingers over the stumps of Tony’s wings. There was a surge of light and Tony felt an angel’s Grace touch him for the first time in centuries, millennia, since the War. “Hold on.”

_To what?_

Bucky slid his arms around Tony’s chest and lifted him. An angel in flight could only be seen by the purest of men, the most holy, the most faithful. Young children, sometimes. And cats. Who were entirely unimpressed with angels and demons alike.

Bucky’s Grace ached through Tony’s bones, but it was worth the pain to look down from an angel’s vantage again. To feel Bucky’s breath spilling over his head. To feel Bucky’s chest pressed against his back, even if it stretched Tony’s wing stumps unbearably. Pain was nothing new, but it had been millennia, aeons, since Tony had flown simply for the joy of it, and his eyes filled with tears at the simple beauty. It took him a moment to catch his breath. “Thank you,” he whispered, and it could be sincere _and_ part of the seduction at the same time; it _could_.

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt true gratitude, unburdened by the weight of expectation or debt.

“Oh, look, there’s a good one,” Bucky said, and he swirled through the air until he deposited Tony on a cloud, light and fluffy and full of warmth. That was decidedly an angel’s trick, and nothing that Tony could have managed, making a solid landing place above the human world where they could look down and see, and yet remain concealed. Bucky laughed, spread his wings out and laid down on them like they were a blanket, staring up into the sky. “Don’t let go, you’ll fall.” He kept one hand outstretched for Tony to take. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, that was terribly rude of me to say. Please, forgive it.”

“I’m afraid I’m not in the forgiving business,” Tony said, but he grinned and winked as he said it so Bucky would know it was a joke. Even if it was also deadly serious. He kept hold of Bucky’s hand, and curled his tail around Bucky’s leg as well, for good measure. “You’re in a good mood today. Do angelic vessels not get hangovers?”

Bucky blushed, pretty and pink. “I Healed someone, today. I was… well, I was happy, and I touched her, and she could see. She looked up in my face and she Saw me. We had to call the… the little truck that comes, and she wanted me to come with her, to see the doctor. He thinks I shocked her, like a little tiny lightning bolt, and it pushed her nerves back into working order. I don’t know, humans are silly sometimes, in their quest for Answers. And then-- then someone heard about it, and he came down to the kitchen with a big check, and that’ll just do so much good, Tony, it’s very exciting!”

Tony stared at Bucky in shock. He’d tempted an angel into sin -- not much of it, but a little! -- and the next day the angel had done _more_ good? Inspired _more_ faith?

That was _not_ what Tony had planned. Damn it (literally), if word of this got back Downstairs before Tony made good on his promise to corrupt Bucky, the Boss was going to be _so pissed_.

Okay. Okay. No panicking. This wasn’t unrecoverable. Tony could use this.

Bucky was still holding his hand, after all.

“Maybe kissing is good for you,” Tony said, keeping it light.

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed. He eyed Tony through long lashes. “I prayed about it, you know.”

 Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you? And did you get an answer?”

“I _did_ ,” Bucky said. He rolled up onto his side, leaning on his elbow to stare lazily at Tony. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Do you want to know what He said?”

How long had it been since Tony had heard the Lord’s voice and known His Will? “Tell me.”

“He said I should always repay that which I owe,” Bucky said. He reached out, fingers trembling, and he touched Tony’s face. “You gave me a kiss. Should I give you one back?”

Tony laid back, letting Bucky lean over him. “I would like that,” he said honestly. Bucky’s kiss had been so sweet... And if the Lord was actually telling Bucky to kiss Tony back, then Tony would eat his own tail.

The first kiss Bucky gave him was not on his mouth, or his forehead, but instead, Bucky touched his lips to the palm of Tony’s hand, a sudden, searing _agony_ of a kiss, so full of Grace that it burned Tony’s flesh. Like a Holy wafer, like blessed water, and yet, even in the middle of pain, it went right through him. It warmed every inch of him -- a demon, who’d been to Hell, who knew intimately the fires of Lucifer -- in ways that he’d never imagined. Like he’d been cold and not known it, like he’d been scared and was now protected. Like he’d been alone, and was now home.

When Bucky pulled away, Tony was gasping for breath, tears streaming from his eyes. “What... What was that?”

“Oh!” Bucky turned Tony’s palm. “I…” He ducked his chin a little, embarrased. “I told you, I’m overdoing it today.” Clear as sunlight, right in the middle of Tony’s palm, where Bucky’s lips had touched… was Bucky’s Name. Written in angelic script. It glowed, soft as starlight.

 

“What...” Tony touched the name with his own fingers, feeling the way it sparked and sizzled under his skin. Beelzebub’s left tit, this was getting out of hand. Tony needed to get this back on track, and _fast_. “Bucky,” he whispered, and watched the Name on his skin flash and glow. “How?”

“I… uh, I don’t know?” Bucky ran his fingertip over it. “I’m sorry, does it hurt? I didn’t… I won’t do it again.” He carefully, tenderly, folded Tony’s fingers closed, like a mother giving a child a kiss to save. “I certainly won’t do it to your face, I like your face just the way it is.” And he leaned in to kiss Tony’s mouth.

For a long, sweet moment, it was nothing but pressure, warm and willing, but unlearned. Bucky let out a faint breath, and then his tongue slid out, traced the crease of Tony’s mouth with timid, but eager licks. Tony had kissed more humans than he could conveniently count, and more than a  good sized number of the Fallen. And he was discovering that they were all nothing, by comparison. That a little baby peck from an angel who’d never so much as been touched before was reaching places inside Tony that he’d thought sealed and locked and gone and forgotten. Bucky hadn’t closed his eyes, as if he didn’t know he was supposed to, or if he was so fascinated by Tony that he didn’t want to, and there was a hunger in those brilliant blue eyes, the same color as storm clouds.

As if Bucky might Fall, for no other reason than to be with Tony. As if he needed something from Tony, something no one else could ever, ever give him. More precious than faith, more rare than Grace. Bucky needed him, wanted him, with a fervor that was… _humbling_.

Tony cupped Bucky’s face in one hand and kissed him again, slow and thorough, mapping Bucky’s mouth and giving in to the temptation to roll his body up against Bucky’s, to feel that strength, to test the depth of that desire.

Bucky made a soft, humming sound, licked at Tony’s mouth again, and then drew back to look at him. “What… what are we doing?” He didn’t seem angry, or afraid, just curious, and his fingers twitched out again, traced along Tony’s bottom lip, leaving tingles in their wake. Those fingers slid up the side of Tony’s face, and then hesitated, right over the edge of his hair, hovering near the jagged edges of Tony’s horns; the remains of his halo.

Tony tipped his head, stropping his horn against Bucky’s hand like a cat might, if a cat had horns. It ached a little; Tony’s horns were sensitive from a wound that couldn’t be healed. But it also felt good, that bright, singing sensation that was the constant presence of Bucky’s Grace. “We’re...” He paused, considering it. He didn’t want to frighten Bucky away again, or make Bucky angry. “We’re making love.” That’s what the humans called it, even when there was nothing as pure as _love_ about it.

“We are?” The seemed to delight the angel and that soft, sweet smile grew even brighter. “I didn’t know. We’re… _creating_ it?” Bucky quivered against him, like a bowstring pulled taut. “Will I be able to see it? Will you show it to me?” He was caressing Tony’s horns the whole time, as mindlessly and guilelessly as he’d patted Tony’s tail; the innocence of a creature that hadn’t yet learned that some things bite.

There, that was the permission Tony had wanted, the crack in the angel’s armor that would let Tony’s corruption in. That was what he had needed. He should feel triumphant, but all he could feel in the moment was a sense of awe, that Bucky would trust him so completely, chased with a hint of something like sorrow -- pity, that Bucky was going to learn such a hard lesson, so harshly.

Not enough to stop him, though. He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and pushed gently until Bucky was laid back on those glorious wings again, and Tony was leaning over him. “I’ll show you,” he promised, and he kissed Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s cheek and jaw, drawing on all his skill to read Bucky’s responses and react to them. If Bucky was going to Fall, then Tony would give him something worth remembering. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured into Bucky’s ear, and licked the shell of it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Bucky said. He leaned into Tony’s kiss with eagerness. “You won’t hurt me.” When Tony pulled back to gauge Bucky’s reactions, Bucky repeated the kisses, exploring Tony’s ear, nipping at the lobe, and letting his breath warm the damp skin. “You won’t hurt me.” His hands roamed aimlessly around, Tony’s shoulders, his back, along his throat; a blind man trying to discover the face of God. Each touch, so clearly innocent and unaware of the fire he was building, was like a gift.

That trust was searing itself into Tony’s skin with each soft touch. “No,” Tony agreed. “I won’t. I’m going to do the very opposite of that.” He nuzzled in to kiss Bucky’s throat, licking and nibbling gently, and stroked his hands over Bucky’s wings, tugging softly at the primaries and secondaries, ruffling through the smaller feathers, letting himself imagine how it would have felt, when his own wings had been whole.

Bucky shimmered under Tony’s hands, his human vessel dropping away to reveal the angel, unhidden and bright. The earth-style clothing melted away until all that was under Tony’s hands were billowing, white robes. A golden belt around his waist and a golden collar around his neck held them closed, gave his wings a whole back panel to spread through. Not that it mattered, an angel’s wings could only be held down by sin. It was the nature of things. Bucky mantled again, as Tony kissed his throat, tucking Tony into that safe, white shell.

Without the human mask, Bucky was even more beautiful, his Grace mirrored on a perfect face. Soft, full lips framed a glorious, eager smile. His eyes were the blue of stormclouds at sea, dusted at the corners with laugh lines, and fringed with thick lashes. Strong chin, sharp perfect cheekbones. A thousand master painters could have struggled for a thousand years and never created anything so beautiful. And yet, that same face turned in Tony’s direction and all Tony could see was the reflection of himself, in Bucky’s eyes.

Tony knew that Bucky could see through his human disguise, had already seen Tony’s demon shape, scarred and disfigured by the Fall. But it still took an act of will to drop his vessel and reveal himself, in the face of Bucky’s perfection. He pushed aside the masks and met Bucky’s gaze with stubborn pride. He had _earned_ his scars and his blackened stumps. Let the angel look, if he would.

But Bucky’s eyes held no pity, only curiosity and warmth and burgeoning desire. Tony took a breath, and another. He put his hand on Bucky’s chest, over that robe, whiter than the cloud they rested on, and felt Bucky’s heart racing underneath. “You’re so beautiful,” Tony said, and let the wonder of it fill him. “Are you sure?”

“Only the Lord, or fools, are ever _certain_ ,” Bucky said.”You are as distant and beautiful as the stars, and as unique as a single snowflake, ephemeral in your perfection. How many angels would dance on the head of a pin? Only one, if you will dance with me. I am not _certain_. I am not _sure_. But I am willing, and I want this. Show me love, Tony.”

Tony laughed. “As you say, angel.” He kissed Bucky’s throat, around the edge of that collar, then unfastened it and set it aside, letting Bucky’s robes fall open to reveal his chest, muscled and smooth. Tony dragged his mouth over that skin, sweet and warm, licked and kissed and nipped and sucked until Bucky was arching into each touch.

Bucky squirmed and writhed, made soft, kitten noises in his throat. His hands opened and closed on Tony’s shoulders, sometimes stroking his skin, sometimes just holding on. “I don’t… I don’t…” he gasped. “Oh, Tony… I…” If Bucky was human, Tony would have said that his legs went ‘round Tony’s hips instinctively, but angels shouldn’t have those sorts of instincts. They didn’t mate like humans, and it was only in mockery and mimicry of humans that demons learned those things.

But Bucky was as pure in love and as eager in learning as he was in everything else. When Tony did something the angel liked, he knew it. The sounds Bucky made were incredible, needy and sweet. And when Tony did something specific, Bucky would mimic it, then try his own variations, to see if what Tony liked was different.

Bucky startled, when Tony shed his own clothes in a burst of fire, the rich scent of sulphur hanging in the air, the ash of cloth wafting away on the breeze. “Oh,” Bucky gasped. “That was… impressive.”

Bucky rolled them over until Tony was supported on nothing but the clouds and Bucky’s will. Terrifying, because if Bucky let him go, Tony would fall, and while demons couldn’t really be killed -- well, not by anything as mundane as gravity -- it would still _hurt_. He stared at Tony as if he’d never seen a naked man before, and perhaps he hadn’t. It wasn’t like an angel needed to take a _shower_ , even if Tony had indulged in the luxury.

His hand went down Tony’s chest and stuttered over the scarring at his heart, where his Angelic Name and Power had been stripped from him, a clawed hole that had been covered with thick ropy scar tissue. It always ached, always hurt, just a little. But Bucky’s fingers didn’t shy away from the ugliness, didn’t even seem to register that it was _ugly_. He kept right on touching, as if Tony were somehow precious. “Lovely.” Down more, and then--”Am I allowed?” His palm was just over Tony’s cock, scant millimeters away. “Will you like it?”

“Yes,” Tony promised. “Please. Whatever... anything you want. You can’t hurt me.” A lie, that, but Bucky wouldn’t _want_ to hurt him, and that was nearly the same thing. Tony had never let pain come between him and pleasure before. “You learn fast, Bucky.” What a glorious demon he would make.

Bucky’s fingers explored the length, from base to head, and then he laughed, delighted. “Oh, it moves! Not quite so much as your tail, but-- does it have a mind of its own, too?” Bucky kept stroking it, petting it. At the start of each stroke, he ran his thumb over Tony’s crown, smearing precome down, sending delicious, juddering sensation through Tony’s whole body.

Tony groaned. “Something like that,” he managed. He slid his tail up under Bucky’s robes, coiling higher and higher up Bucky’s thigh. “Going to let me return the favor, gorgeous?”

“You should always pay back what you owe,” Bucky said, almost primly, despite the wicked things he was doing to Tony’s cock. He curled his hand around it, squeezed, and then twisted, making Tony cry out with sudden pleasure, before rolling them over again, the cloud obligingly moving around underneath them, perfect support and cushion, and tucking his hands behind his head, as if waiting for Tony to get on with things.

Tony laughed again and settled himself into the vee of Bucky’s thighs. “This isn’t something to owe,” he said. “This is something to _give_ , a gift.” He plucked at Bucky’s belt and let it fall away, let the robes drop open to reveal a body that made Tony’s mouth water at the sight. “But if you like, I will repay, with interest.” He slipped down and closed his mouth over Bucky’s cock, thick and long and dark with need. He had to stretch his jaw to take Bucky down to the root, but it was worth it to hear Bucky’s gasps and soft cries, to feel that perfect body trembling under him.

One of Bucky’s hands speared into Tony’s hair, then latched on to his horn, thumb stroking along it in time to Tony’s movements, like it was a handle. The other somehow found Tony’s tail, pulled at it once, which sent shivers directly up Tony’s spine, his hand warm against the surface, before retreating to caress the spaded tip. His wings arched around them, feathery ends tickling down Tony’s back and legs, seeming to touch him everywhere at once. “Oh, that… that feels… _Tony_ , that feels so good!”

Tony hummed in approval. His tail was sensitive, almost as sensitive as his hands and cock. And the way Bucky touched his horns -- humans couldn’t touch them at all, and demons simply _didn’t_ , but Bucky couldn’t know that. That indescribable pleasure-pain of Grace scraping against the remnants of Tony’s halo... He shuddered, and tried to take Bucky even deeper into his mouth, because if he pulled free, he was going to do something utterly undignified, like beg for more.

“Oh, oh, _oh,”_ Bucky cried, each repetition going higher and more frantic, his body unable to remain still under the onslaught of sensation. “Tony, something’s happening!” And he bucked up, hips moving, piston sharp, against Tony. His hand tightened, almost unbearably, on Tony’s horn, before relaxing again and then-- Tony found his tail hauled straight up and Bucky was licking it frantically, sucking the spaded end into his mouth and playing it with his tongue, swallowing around it. He hummed, a quick patter of notes that sent vibrations shimmering up Tony’s spine.

Tony’s tail twitched, and he swallowed down around Bucky’s cock, pressing his tongue flat against the vein. With a more experienced partner, he might have stopped, drawing out the moment, but he couldn’t imagine doing anything like that with Bucky, not like this. Nothing could ever be more perfect than Bucky’s frantic desperation and confusion, and Tony wanted nothing more than to lead Bucky to climax, to see the shock and pleasure on the angel’s expression.

Bucky jerked, one last time, and then his Voice rang out, multiple chords, a sound absolutely unreproducible by a human throat, a beautiful _alleluia_ that shook the sky and earth. The clouds scattered and it started raining down from nothingness, the moon brilliant enough to send rainbows scattering for a brief moment of meteorological miracles.

“ _Oh_! Oh, _Tony_.” Bucky panted for breath, overwhelmed and shivering with reaction.

“There you go,” Tony soothed. He swallowed his mouthful -- of _course_ Bucky tasted wonderful -- and crawled up to take Bucky into his arms. He petted the angel’s hair and shoulders and the join of his wings. “That’s it, just relax.” He eyed the rainbows mistrustfully -- the last thing he needed was for the Lord to butt in now.

Bucky cracked one eye open to give Tony a Look. “Don’t think I could _get_ any more relaxed,” he pointed out, the sarcasm loaded, and unlike the angel’s normal, sweet, too-innocent tones. He stretched, displaying all his glorious skin, and then his hand travelled down Tony’s body again. “Will… that? Happen for you? Teach me, show me how to make love with you.”

Tony suppressed a scoff -- everyone knew that demons couldn’t love. Everyone except Bucky, it seemed. Tony curled his hand -- the one with Bucky’s Name branded into the palm -- around Bucky’s, wrapped their joined hands around his cock. “Like this.” He showed Bucky how to stroke, slow and then fast, rolling over the head to spread pre-come, making things slick and easy. “Just-- oh... yeah. Just like that.” Bucky was a _very_ fast learner.

“Hold on to me,” Bucky told him, pulling Tony in closer, his breath warm against Tony’s neck as he moved his hand, drawing pleasure from the demon’s body. Reaching a fever pitch, Tony’s body was shuddering in Bucky’s arms, and then Bucky leaned down and _licked_ Tony’s horn. No pain, only unimaginable pleasure, ripped through him, stunning him with its bright joy. “I have you, I’ve got you, my prayer. Give me your gift, love.”

Tony had never felt pleasure like this. It surged through his body, erasing the pain and anguish and uncertainty. Bucky’s attention and sweet words made him feel whole, however briefly. Cherished. _Loved_.

The tears that fell from Tony’s eyes were no less of a relief than the climax that rushed through him, healing and hot and perfect. “Bucky!” The angelic syllables tore out of his throat, echoed off the clouds, and shattered the starlight into fragments as Tony let go and fell into Bucky’s arms.

When Tony came back to himself, Bucky was still humming that glorious multichorded chorus, and wiping Tony’s chest with the corner of his robes. “You might be right,” he told Tony in all seriousness. “It’s a gift. I just cannot quite place who is giving, and who is receiving. A gift, that we give to each other.” He shifted his robes again, and Bucky’s halo slid from the pocket, a glimmering ring of gold against the clouds. “Pesky thing,” Bucky said to it, fondly. He lifted it, and then _hung it on Tony’s horn._ “Hold this a moment, would you?”  

Tony was so shocked he couldn’t even move for a long moment. An angel never _touched_ another’s halo, never mind handed it over in a moment of -- what? Affectionate playfulness? And Tony was a _demon_. He could, in theory, do terrible things with a whole halo in his possession. “Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky finished cleaning Tony up and wrapped the spare bits of robe around him. “You know, well, of course you know, angels are the _embodiment_ of the Lord’s love. I’m supposed to love everything that the Lord created. But I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, laughing eyes bright. “I think, of all the Lord’s creations, I love _you_ best.”

 _You can’t_ , Tony wanted to say. _You mustn’t_. Because Tony was no fit vessel for love. He was a black hole, drinking in light and never returning it. He was Fallen, a demon. Surely the Lord’s mandate stopped short when it reached the gates of Hell.

He looked down at the Name shimmering under his skin, and said nothing. He just curled against Bucky’s side and felt Bucky’s wings cradling them, strong and secure and safe.

When Tony woke up, he found himself alone on a bench in the park, body slightly damp with dew. He was wearing clothes he didn’t recognize, mismatched, but concealing him. In one hand, he held a single, white feather.

The soup kitchen was a happy, busy place. The money was flowing in, the love and nutrition flowing out. Bucky had made a few suggestions in the director’s ear, and they were laying down the groundwork to buy an abandoned shopping mall and turn it into low rent and no rent housing, just outside the city. So much _good_ was being done and Bucky was a part of it.

He had to keep damping down his glow. Even the director had commented on it, when he came in to begin the day’s work. “Looks like you had a good time last night,” she had teased.

“I did, thank you,” Bucky had said.

And now, Bucky was taking his turn at the soup line, filling bowls with thick stew, when time stopped.

Gabriel blew in the doors of the shelter, his silver trumpet already at his lips and the blast he sounded dropped a dozen pigeons dead in the streets, caused Mr. Hartwell to seize up, his heart strained. Children burst into tears, cats fled, dogs howled. The sky grew dark and ominous. Bucky dropped the soup ladle and found himself cringing against the wall as Gabriel’s boots rang against the floor.

Bucky didn’t know what the humans saw, a robber, perhaps, a drug-crazed maniac. A kidnapper, or terrorist.

But the director rushed forward, her face set with anger, and she wielded a kitchen knife threateningly against the Angel of Judgement. “Get away from him!”

“No!” Bucky threw himself between Gabriel and the director. “Leave her alone, she’s done no harm to you. I’ll come with you, just… leave them alone, Gabriel. They’re good people. They’re doing the Lord’s work.”

Gabriel looked past Bucky, _through_ him, at the director. Weighing. _Judging_. Finally, he focused on Bucky and lifted his empty hand to point. “Outside, then.”

“Call an ambulance for Mr. Hartwell,” Bucky told the director, then kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You… take care of everything here. Lord’s blessing on you.” He sealed that with his kiss; she would be protected, unless Gabriel wanted to take it up with the Lord. Terror and rage battled it out in his chest, nothing he should _ever_ be feeling in the presence of an archangel.

He shed his human vessel as soon as he passed the threshold, vanishing from the human world. He went to Gabriel and supplicated himself, kneeling at Gabriel’s feet until his forehead touched the ground, reaching for the hem of Gabriel’s robes to kiss the fabric.

“What have you done?” Gabriel demanded. “I sent you here to _repent_.”

“Is this not good work?” Bucky asked, keeping his face down. “We are feeding near to five hundred people a day, getting ready to home nearly a thousand. It’s small, I know, but I’m only starting. I have brought hope, joy, faith, to at least a dozen or more.”

“And lost your own way so badly as to consort with demons!” snapped Gabriel.

“Tony is one of the Lord’s children, the same as you, or I,” Bucky said. He was _petrified_. Gabriel hated demons, hated them with a fervor that was unseemly in an angelic heart. Sometimes, Bucky wondered, if Gabriel didn’t hate Lucifer more than he loved the Lord. That was sinful, unworthy of Bucky to think it and he cowered closer to the ground, practically crawling. Debasing himself before one of the eldest.

“ _Hardly_ the same,” Gabriel growled. “And you have let it infect you with its lies, _lain_ with it. The stench of Hell surrounds you like a cloud.”

“He didn’t lie,” Bucky protested. “He’s not an _it_ , not a _monster_. Don’t speak about him like that!”

Thunder cracked. “How _dare_ you? You defile your God-given body with that _creature_ , and then dare to defy me?”

“He’s not a _creature_!” Bucky had never experienced righteousness. The purity of emotion that rose up on behalf of another, to defend and protect. But it grew inside him like a white ball of light until he was breaking at the seams from it. “Tony cares about me!” And the light exploded, blowing Gabriel right off his feet to tumble down the street, until the archangel was on the ground, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes.

It wasn’t until he was standing, proud and strong, over Gabriel, that Bucky realized what he’d done. Oh, oh, oh, _no_! He’d struck a superior, he’d raised his Grace against an archangel. That he’d knocked Gabriel down with the force of it said nothing, except that Gabriel could not have expected the blow.

Bucky went to his belly on the ground, agast. _Horrified_ with himself. “I’m sorry, forgive me, forgive me, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Silence.” Gabriel rose to his feet, and a little beyond that, hovering over Bucky, wings outstretched in fury. “You teeter on the precipice, child of Samael. Have a care, or you will Fall. Or perhaps that is your intention.”

“I… just want to stay,” Bucky pleaded. “Finish the work. I’m doing good work. Let me stay, you’ll see.”

Gabriel was silent for a long while. It seemed years passed before he finally spoke again. “When our Lord allows me to sound the call to the Final Battle,” he said, his beautiful voice cold, “I will not hesitate to join the Host. I will lay down my trumpet and take up the sword, and I will destroy your precious _Tony_ without a thought. And you as well, if you stand between us. Do you hear me, child?”

“Oh, Gabriel,” Bucky said, suddenly filled with sorrow. He stood, reached out for the elder. “When did you lose your Grace?”

Gabriel’s expression darkened, and the wind howled down the long-empty street. “Stay, if you will. Or Fall, if Lucifer will have you. But you are no longer welcome in Heaven.” He lifted his trumpet to his lips and blew a note that, if the humans could have heard it, surely would have destroyed them, rendered them into dust and ash. It pierced Bucky’s ears and heart and soul until he screamed and fell to his knees in pain and terror.

When it stopped and Bucky could see again, Gabriel was gone, and something... was _wrong_.

Bucky pulled his wings around him, cowering inside them. He reached his hand into his pocket, his fingers grasping for his halo.

A sharp spike of pain in his fingers and he pulled them out, full of dread. The golden blood of an angel dripped from his fingertips and the remnants of his shattered halo was held in his palm.

Bucky gave out a soft, agonized sob. “Father,” he cried out. “Why have You forsaken me?”

The sound sliced through Tony like a shockwave, more a feeling than a noise. He lifted his head sharply from his contemplation of the feather in his hand. He knew that instrument. He knew that _note_. If it continued much longer--

But it was gone. Tony slumped back against the park bench, heart pounding in fear and hope. It hadn’t stretched long enough to unmake an angel, though _something_ had been destroyed. Tony wondered if he dared investigate.

He should feel more satisfaction. He had corrupted an angel; Bucky’s Fall was no doubt imminent. But that... only made him sad.

The ground at Tony’s feet heaved, like a large, angry mole was digging around under there, until the soil tore and Pepper clawed her way out. Tony preferred other, more dignified ways to travel, but he had to admit, Pepper’s method was quick. “Well, it sounds like someone’s having a bad morning,” she said, brushing dirt off her vessel in quick flicks of her hand. “We’re counting this as a win for the bad guys?”

“I guess so,” Tony admitted. He stuffed his hand into his pocket, feeling for the feather there.

“I have all the paperwork here,” Pepper said. “I need a drop of blood to process him into the middle circles. We can have him dragged, if he won’t sign. Make sure he knows it’s a slow climb, if we take him unwillingly. But if he comes with us, we can fast-track him. It’s been a while since you’ve had a new assistant. But I could really use some help, so well done, Tony-- Tony? Are you all right?”

“What? I’m... I guess.” Tony could feel every tiny ridge of the feather against his fingertips. “It’s just, he was so... So bright and hopeful and _happy_. He doesn’t deserve... this.”

Pepper waved a hand; she couldn’t actually conjure food and coffee, but there was probably some hipster across town suddenly missing their breakfast. It was one of her talents, and usually Tony enjoyed it, eating something meant for someone else. Literally taking candy from babies. “Since when have you cared about what they _deserve_?” Pepper asked. “Tony, this is a big win, here!”

Tony rounded on her. “It’s _all_ about what they deserve, Pep! That’s the whole _point_! The whole system is explicitly set up to reward the worthy and punish the unworthy. And he doesn’t deserve this! He doesn’t deserve _me_.”

“What about what _you_ deserve, Tony?” Pepper asked. “Right now, I think you deserve a doughnut and some espresso, because you’re just not yourself when you’re hungry. As far as the system goes, we’ve needed an overhaul of the system for _years_. It’s been on the agenda at every Diabolic Conference for the last ten generations at least. The act of buying indulgences has been on the books for so long, the really horrible sinners are getting a Fast Pass. Honestly, we’re not Walt Disney.”

“If only we had their numbers,” Tony muttered, almost by reflex, and then he shook himself. “Pepper, I can’t... I have to try to make this right.” He shoved the coffee and doughnut back into her hands and set off into the city as fast as his vessel’s legs would carry him.

Gabriel sure left his mark on a place; where his powers had touched the human world, there was destruction and chaos. Cops and SWAT teams lined the perimeter. A frantic woman described how a terrorist with a suicide bomb had come into the homeless shelter, and that their new, bravest employee, everyone loved him, and taken the man outside, and gently talked him down, until the man had gone mad and depressed the trigger.

She was sobbing as she told the story.

Ambulances were attending the injured.

Near the door, there was a crater, as if there really had been some explosion. A soft, barely there sound reached Tony’s ears. Muffled sobbing, as if so great that it was leaking through the Veil.

Tony shed his vessel -- the last thing he wanted was to deal with well-meaning but useless humans -- and swept through, a cold shiver of a wind for those crossing his path. It was physically hard to enter the crater; the echo of the note lingered there, painful static on Tony’s skin. He pushed through it anyway, because Bucky was there, kneeling at the center of the crater, wings curled protectively around himself as he sobbed.

Tony was surprised -- and relieved -- to see those wings still intact. There was some hope, then, that Tony hadn’t utterly destroyed him.

And no hope, really, that he would want to see Tony, not when Tony was the author of all this pain. But he was helpless to walk away. He stopped just outside of Bucky’s wingspan and watched for an endless moment. He couldn’t move, not until he realized that he was rubbing at the palm of his hand, thumb dragging back and forth across Bucky’s Name. Tony forced his hands to his side and air into his chest. “Bucky?”

“Tony!” Bucky cried out and for a moment, Tony wasn’t certain that he wasn’t being attacked, but Bucky tucked his face against Tony’s throat, using Tony’s strength to hold himself up. “Tony, Tony, Tony, he broke it! He broke it! Gabriel broke it!”

Tony almost staggered under the sudden weight, but managed to keep them upright. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “What did he break?”

Bucky gulped down more tears, then opened his hand. Laying in the palm were three crescents, dull and black and pockmarked. “I only spoke the truth, and he _shattered_ it,” Bucky wailed. There wasn’t even enough of Bucky’s halo left to form a decent pair of horns; they’d just be tiny spikes on either side of his head, no longer than an inch or two. Not enough to grant Bucky any demonic powers. He’d be a lesser imp, never capable of anything more than the strength of all celestial beings.  A foot soldier, sacrificed for a hill in the Last War.

Tony swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault.” He reached out, then hesitated. Touching an angel’s halo or a demon’s horns was... Bucky had touched Tony’s horns. Bucky had looped his halo over Tony’s horns, and-- Tony brushed a finger along the curve of one short crescent. “I did this.”

“No, _you_ didn’t,” Bucky said. He wiped his cheeks angrily, smearing tears across his perfect face. “Gabriel did it. Gabriel did it, punishment for me, for daring… for _daring_ to care about a demon. Gabriel has harbored hatred in his heart. He has lost his Grace.”

Bucky sighed, slid the pieces of his halo back into his pocket. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I’m not ashamed. I don’t regret anything I’ve done. The Lord has not judged me; Gabriel did.”

 _Because I tempted you._ A new demon -- even if only an imp -- and news of Gabriel’s lost Grace would definitely bring Tony back into the Boss’ good books. At least for a while.

It wouldn’t even be that hard to convince Bucky to come with him, to finish Falling. To convince the angel that punishing the damned was still part of the Lord’s work. The words sprang easily to Tony’s tongue.

They tasted bitter, though. Tony found his hand in his pocket again, stroking the feather.

He took the feather out and looked at it. Angel feathers didn’t just _fall_ out; they had to be removed. Not unlike...

“I can fix it,” Tony heard himself saying. “Give me the pieces. I can fix it.”

Bucky didn’t even ask; didn’t even hesitate. After everything that happened, Bucky still trusted Tony, implicitly and absolutely. A few slivers and a handful of what was practically dust. “I would do it again,” Bucky told him. “You’re not a _monster_. You’re not a _thing_. Gabriel had no right to say it.”

“I am _absolutely_ a monster,” Tony said. “I am a terror in the dark. I tempt the good into sin, and sinners into damnation. But I am going to fix this. You are going Home.” He sat down there, in the center of the crater, and laid out the pieces of Bucky’s halo, every tiny sliver and speck of dust. It wasn’t enough, because of course it wasn’t, but that was all right, because Tony had his own pieces.

He didn’t look at Bucky, and he didn’t let himself think about the consequences. He grasped at his own horns and _pulled_.

It hurt. It hurt nearly as much as the Fall had hurt, nearly as much as losing his wings. He kept pulling. _For Bucky_.

At last, they came free, a pair of pitted black arcs. Tony laid them carefully next to Bucky’s pieces and measured. It would be enough, just. “I was a smith,” Tony said softly. “I built halos, before the War.” He summoned his fire -- it had been Holy fire, once upon a time, cleansing and shaping. Now it was profane, a balefyre that consumed and destroyed. But it obeyed his command, and he needed it to forge the pieces together.

He wiped blood from his face, running down out of his hair, out of the holes where his horns had been, and flung that into the fire, as well. If he was going to sacrifice his power and his standing and -- quite probably -- his existence to save the angel, then he might as well leave some of himself in the halo. Let some small piece of him return Home.

Time and space only existed when he wanted them to. He squeezed into the space between seconds, slipped into the molecules of matter, and pulled the pieces of the halo together. Bucky’s pieces joined to one another eagerly; they already knew each other. He expected it would be more difficult to join his own horns into the curve, but -- he had almost forgotten, again, Bucky hanging the halo against his horn. They knew each other. Tony tested the seams, and found it solid, if simple.

The fire licked away the black scarring, leaving a halo in its place, thinner than it had once been and more silver than gold, but true and whole. Tony released his fire and slid back into the world, and finally, allowed himself to look at Bucky again.

“What… what did you do?” Bucky was staring at him, eyes wide and awestruck. “Tony, what did you do?”

“I fixed it,” Tony said. “It just needed some parts.”

Bucky stretched out his hand. Tony thought he was reaching for the halo, but then, past it. “Tony-- oh, God’s glory, Tony… look what you did.” He touched something over Tony’s shoulder and a shock of sensation rippled down his skin and into his spine. “Tony… _look at this_.” He tugged, and it was reminiscent of someone pulling his tail, or… _his wings_?

Bucky drew the feathers over Tony’s shoulder. Not white, like an angel’s, but brilliant red and gold, like the very heart of his fires.

Tony’s throat closed, and he had to swallow around it. “I didn’t. That’s-- I didn’t do this.” He lifted a shaking hand to feel the feathers, soft coverts and stiff primaries. He stretched the wings out and they obeyed him, splaying wide. The muscles felt stiff, unused, but whole and strong. “How...?” He didn’t realize he was weeping until he looked at Bucky again and found Bucky’s face blurred.

“You… you’re _Forgiven_ , Tony,” Bucky said, and he gently took the halo out of Tony’s hands and set it over Tony’s head. It hovered there a moment, then settled, filling him with Grace. “You can go Home.” Bucky stepped back, to look at Tony in all his glory. “Of all God’s creations, you’re the one I love best. Go Home, Tony. Go Home. You deserve it.”

Home. He could go Home. He could resume his place at the forge, could bask in the Lord’s presence, could-- Never see Bucky again.

Tony took off the halo. “No. Not without you.”

“Tony--” Bucky fingers brushed over the halo, and Tony felt it, like an extension of himself, down his fingers and into his palm where Bucky’s name was etched on his skin. Bucky brushed his thumb over Tony’s temples, Healing the gaping wounds there, wiping the blood clean. “You sacrificed _everything_ for me. You should… there’s not enough here, not for both of us. If you don’t… what will we do?”

Tony caught Bucky’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “There’s enough Grace between us to stay out of Hell. That’s all we need. With one halo between us, not quite all the way to being angels, but not Fallen, either. We can stay here. We can... we can do good. Here. We don’t need to be angels for that.”

“I told Gabriel you weren’t a monster,” Bucky said. He pulled himself closer to Tony, tilted his head, and claimed Tony’s mouth for a kiss. “Of all the Lord’s creations, I love you best.”

Tony pressed his mouth into Bucky’s palm, breathing into it the Name he had lost and now recovered. “I love you, Bucky. Into eternity, I love you.”

The Lord tilted His head to one side. “I’m surprised to see you, Luci. Do come in, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

Lucifer stalked in, tail whipping from side to side like an angry cat’s. “Don’t come over all inscrutable on me,” he growled. “And don’t try to tell me that you saw that coming. There’s no way you planned _that_. And now we’ve both lost!”

“Need I remind you that I work in mysterious ways?” The Lord waited until Lucifer was fuming, smoke pouring out of his ears. “I didn’t lose him. Bucky’s a good boy, if a touch rebellious. A bit too obsessed with the television. One might say I learned something, from the last time I had a spot of the mutinous to deal with.”

Lucifer huffed. His horns nearly formed a perfect circle, only a jagged crack between them. “And Tony is still an expert at temptation and mayhem, even if he’s got some soft spots. What do we do now?”

“Well, I’d like to offer amnesty -- there’s a demon in your employ who’s been bringing up some system overhauls. Yes, I have a spy in your midst, Luci, don’t give me that look. I know you have them, too. She has some interesting ideas. And this-- those boys? They may be our best hope for mending our fences.”

Lucifer looked startled. “Mending our fences?”

The Lord gazed at Lucifer, His eyes soft. “I did wrongly by you, Morningstar. Maybe it’s time for all of Us to let go Our old grudges and try to be a family again?” He offered His hand to Lucifer Morningstar, once the best and brightest of the angels.

Lucifer took the Lord’s hand gingerly, as if expecting it to burn. When it didn’t, he let out a soft breath and sank to one knee. “Thy will be done,” he murmured, “as always.”

“In the meanwhile… Gabriel has lost his Grace. Maybe you could take him under your wing?”

Lucifer was on his feet again, grin showing sharp teeth. “Has he, now? Well. He’s going to be stubborn about it, too, I expect. That’ll be fun.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon!Tony and angel!Bucky are figuring out their new life on Earth with their shared halo and Grace. Not everything is easy, but they’re together, so everything is good. And then... things are not so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Kink Bingo Square N4 - Wrestling
> 
> Now with art by Monobuu

 

It wasn’t a large orphanage, but it was bright and clean and full of love. Tony thought that most of the love was Bucky’s doing, because Bucky loved everyone and everything, easily and without fear. It took Tony longer to warm up, being out of practice with the whole unconditional love thing.

But he’d earned his wings back, and if he wasn’t quite a full angel, he was no longer entirely a demon, either, and so he tried. He’d always liked kids, even as a demon, which made their orphanage a brilliant idea. Tony could practice on the children while he was working his way up to adults.

Bucky still spent the most time with the children, though, while Tony applied himself to the administrative duties. The paperwork was endless; if Tony hadn’t been used to the nightmare tangle of bureaucracy that governed Hell, he would have wept in despair. As it was, he churned his way steadily through the endless stacks of lesson plans and psychological evaluations and home inspections and funding requests with patience that was, if not saintlike, then at least unearthly.

“I think I found a home for Harley,” Bucky said, coming into the office and sitting down on the edge of Tony’s desk. He unfolded a few fast food cheeseburgers from their wrappers and lined them up in front of Tony, along with onion rings and a black coffee. They’d not yet figured out if they needed to eat, being neither angel nor demon nor quite… mortal, but they both got uncomfortable if they didn’t.

Besides, Bucky _liked_ cheeseburgers, even if he was currently going for the seven deadlies, by route of gluttony. And there was something sinful about the fact that he was eating french fries dipped in strawberry milkshake. Ug.

“How’s it going in here?” Bucky pulled the halo out of his pocket and started playing ring-toss at Tony’s tail, trying to hook the silver-gold celestial metal over the spaded end.

Tony whipped his tail back and forth, playing the game. Bucky always won, though; his sense of aim was uncanny. “It’s going,” Tony sighed. “That’s about all I can say for it. Who’d you find to take Harley? They’re a good fit?” He stole one of Bucky’s burgers and took a bite. There really was something comfortably sinful about them.

“Remember May Parker?” Their very first successful placement, even though it was more a matter of paperwork than actual tracking down a home, was a boy named Peter Parker. The city had gotten a burr about the child’s welfare after both his parents died, and then his adopted uncle had been killed, wondering if taking the child away from blood relatives might have been safer. May Parker, not being particularly wealthy, had come to them for help. Tony’d brokered a devil’s bargain to keep Peter with his aunt. “She thought Peter might be lonely, need a brother. I still have to make the official inspection, but I don’t think it’ll be anything but formality.” Bucky spun the halo a few times in his hand, then sat it neatly over Tony’s head. The rush of Grace was almost better than coffee. _Almost_.

“That’s good,” Tony said. He’d liked May, with her big heart and sharp wit. “Think Harley and Peter will get on all right? You going to take him out for a visitation while you do the inspection?”

“Not for the first one,” Bucky said. He stuffed enough fries in his mouth to choke a rhino, chewed heroically before continuing. “Th’ city’s all sorts of ridiculous about cleanliness of the property and such. I wouldn’t want to get Harley’s hopes up, if we have to arrange for an exterminator or something first.” That was Bucky’s way of saying he’d miracle roaches into going away, but he’d need to step out of the human world for that, and it made people nervous when he just vanished, even if humans were always eager to make up stories for what actually happened. For people who based a lot of their religion on _faith_ , most of them were pretty stubborn about logic versus miracles.

“Come on upstairs, my prayer,” Bucky said, stealing the halo from Tony’s head and tossing it one last time. It spun around the shank, all the way down, sending a shiver up Tony’s spine. “The work will wait ‘til tomorrow. And the reward for hard work is just _more work_.”

Tony licked grease off his fingers and eyed the paperwork. Nothing was left that couldn’t wait a while. Still... He leaned back in his chair, sliding the halo off his tail and spinning it in his hands. “You planning to make me?”

“Two falls out of three says I _can_ make you,” Bucky said, eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ll even let you keep the halo.” He flexed his arms in a ridiculous, bodybuilder pose that he’d picked up from watching too much late night _WWE Smackdown_.

Tony laughed, but used his tail to move the halo back to the top of his head. He would talk a big game, but Bucky was of the line of Samael. Tony would need all the help he could get. “Big words, angel. I don’t see you actually--” He launched himself out of his chair before even finishing the taunt, hoping to catch Bucky off-guard, or at least off-balance in that ridiculous pose.

No such luck. Even without the halo, Bucky would have made (pardon the pun) a hell of a demon, deadly and graceful. He used the momentum of Tony’s lunge beautifully, one wing going out to turn them both before they hit the floor. Tony wound up pinned, on his back, with Bucky straddling his chest, both wrists caught above his head. Bucky leaned forward and licked Tony’s mouth. “Surrender now,” he suggested. “Or you can do my share of the dishes, too.”

Tony actually didn’t mind doing the dishes that much. He let his mouth fall open to Bucky’s kiss, then drew on the Grace of the halo to boost his own strength. He curled up, planted his feet on Bucky’s chest, and shoved, twisting away. “Never surrender!” he cried, laughing as he rolled to his feet.

Bucky circled him, looking for an advantage. They grappled twice, with Bucky almost catching him a second time, and decidedly feeling up Tony’s ass while he was at it. Tony wriggled out of it, and Bucky yanked his tail as he skipped out of range, more undignified than an actual attack. He’d told Bucky once his tail had a mind of its own, and while that wasn’t precisely true, its movements were more instinctual than directed, and as the coil whipped out of Bucky’s hand, the spaded end slapped Bucky’s backside in retribution. “ _Naughty_ ,” Bucky scolded, rubbing the spot with one hand.

“Proudly so,” Tony returned. He couldn’t beat Bucky for strength, not even with the halo, but sometimes he could match his lover for speed. He feinted and then darted the opposite direction, the whip of his tail and wings scattering papers from his desk.

They spun twice through the small office, and there was going to be miracle work later, because the water cooler went over with a crash, before Bucky ended up on his knees, Tony’s tail wrapped around Bucky’s elbow, Tony’s demonic claws just at Bucky’s throat. “Oh, that’s a good maneuver,” Bucky said. “You won’t catch me out twice with that trick.” He leaned back, baring his throat even more, trusting and still innocent. He licked his lip, waiting for Tony to claim his kiss.

Tony leaned in to kiss Bucky hungrily, then jumped back before Bucky could take advantage of that vulnerability. “Last chance,” Tony taunted. His wings spread wide and folded again in his excitement. “If you think you can take me.”

Bucky’s style had very little subtlety to it; a thing he would have only learned in the war, and Bucky was too young for that. He was strong, flexible, but guileless. He telegraphed his moves, eyes flicking. Or so Tony thought; he was lured in for a capture when Bucky stumbled over some of the loose paperwork, but then found himself trapped against Bucky’s broad chest, his arms pinned to his sides in a vast bear hug. “Gotcha,” Bucky crowed, proud of himself. “And now, you’re _mine_.”

Tony gaped. “You _tricked_ me!”

Bucky flushed, then covered it with a grin. “I’m learning from the best,” he said, then, instead of claiming his kiss, he nuzzled at Tony’s throat, licking right over the pulse point. He rocked against Tony’s trapped body; fighting, even in play, always got Bucky’s blood pumping. Tony could feel the hot length of Bucky, pressing against his hip. “Come upstairs with me?”

Tony let his head fall back, exposing even more of his throat to Bucky’s hungry mouth. “You won,” he agreed. “Not-so-fair and square. I’m so proud.” He wriggled his arms free and twined them around Bucky’s neck. “I’m all yours.”

Bucky reached up, touched the halo they shared between them. His finger slid over the metal, and while Tony was wearing it, each soft brush shivered at the Grace they both possessed, warm as a hug, soft as a kiss. The office faded around them and they were upstairs without ever needing to take a step. “Well, look at that,” Bucky said, voice marvelling. “It’s a _miracle_. A bed, right here, when I want one.” He kissed Tony again, shifting out of his human vessel, lighting their tiny room with the glow from his wings.

“It was a mistake to teach you sarcasm,” Tony teased, following Bucky into their true forms, letting his wings stretch out, even as his tail coiled around Bucky’s ankle. “You’re a menace.”

“And you,” Bucky said, continuing to blaze a trail down Tony’s neck and shoulder, brushing his lips over the collarbone, “are delicious. I am claiming my triumph and I am going to eat you right up, Nephil.” That was Bucky all over, deciding that Tony was half-angel, rather than half-demon, even if neither name was technically correct, for either of them. Bucky shrugged out of his robes and nudged Tony back toward their bed.

Liberating, being neither angel nor demon. More powerful than mortals, not answerable to either upstairs or down. Sometimes Tony wondered how long it could last; but they’d been left to their own devices for almost a half year now. Not that time meant anything, to those who’d see Eternity from one side to the other.

Tony’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he let himself fall back onto it, spreading out his wings to give them something soft to lay on. He reached up for Bucky with his arms and his tail, pulling Bucky down over him. Secure in Bucky’s embrace, Tony pressed his face into Bucky’s neck, licking and sucking at the sweet skin there. “Come devour me, then, my salvation. I’m all yours.”

Their wings brushed together, each soft stroke a delight. Bucky was as good (always!) as his word, licking his way down Tony’s body, sometimes teeth grazing over sensitive spots, sometimes stopping to suck a little golden bruise. By the time he’d gotten down to Tony’s hip, he was making soft, eager sounds in his throat.

Bucky might have learned sarcasm, and he was slowly picking up deception, but cruelty wasn’t in his nature, even something as simple as drawing out their lovemaking. When he reached Tony’s cock, he didn’t even hesitate, simply taking a long lick, from crown down to balls. “Mmmm. Perfect,” he declared. He snuggled in the vee of Tony’s legs, getting comfortable before continuing, nuzzling at Tony’s shaft with playful little tastes.

Tony groaned appreciatively and wrapped his wings around them both. He brushed his fingers over Bucky’s hair, stroking lightly. “You make me feel so good,” he praised, then bit his own lip. If he wanted it to last, he had to stifle his reactions -- in its way, almost more cruel than if Bucky were deliberately teasing him. It was wonderful, and Tony loved it. “Just like that, angel.”

Bucky made a happy humming sound, pleased with Tony’s praise. He glanced up, looking far more innocent than anyone ought to, with a mouthful of dick, his lips stretched obscenely around Tony’s length. The part of Tony that had existed, successfully, in hell, triumphed yet again. There was nothing quite as sexy as a debauched angel.

Except -- _possibly_ \-- the fact that Bucky was getting very, very good at driving Tony right out of his mind. Bucky licked and sucked, ran his mouth down the length like playing a harmonica. He worked Tony up to moaning wantonly, then got a hand into the spit-slick works, twisting his fingers around the base. His hands slid under Tony’s ass, pulling him up, spreading Tony’s thighs.

“Mmmm,” Bucky moaned, vibrations running throughout Tony’s entire being. Despite his efforts, Tony was getting close and if--

Bucky pulled off with an obscene slurping sound.   

Tony shuddered as he slipped back from the edge. Who knew? Maybe Bucky would eventually learn how to be delectably cruel. “You’re so beautiful.” Tony reached up and traced lightly down Bucky’s wings, over the long primaries. “Come here, come--” Tony pulled Bucky in to kiss him, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky’s mouth, even as his hands urged Bucky to straddle his hips.

Tony wasn’t an incubus, but one of them had taught him the trick of it, slicking his fingers as he retracted his claws and nudging up between Bucky’s cheeks, seeking that opening. “Let me in, angel,” he purred. His tail slithered up over Bucky’s thigh to curl around Bucky’s cock, the sensitive spaded tip rubbing around the leaking slit.

Bucky threw his head back and wailed, hands gripping the bedsheets as his wings extended. His thighs went quivery and spread wide as Tony worked him open. “Tony, oh, oh, Tony,” he cried, his voice taking on multi choral notes, almost singing Tony’s praises.

Tony worked in another finger. It was difficult, keeping his claws retracted, but worth it for the sounds Bucky made, the dazed and blissful expression on Bucky’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, you’re so beautiful for me.” Tony curled his fingers, seeking--

“You are so _wicked_ ,” Bucky teased. He panted for air, then his hips rocked several times, wings keeping his balance while he rode Tony’s fingers. Finally, the muscle relaxed and Bucky straddled Tony’s hips. “Come on, come on, my prayer, I need… need you…”

“You have me, angel.” Tony pulled his fingers free and gripped Bucky’s hips, helping to guide Bucky down onto his cock. That blissful heat enveloped him, and his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment. “You feel so good,” he sighed. “Every time, it’s a surprise just _how good_...” He rolled his hips up, sinking just a little deeper.

Bucky rode him, beautiful and strong, his hips moving, back arched in a delicious curve, that proud cock jutting out in front. Bucky could have been carved from marble, he was so lovely. He twisted, shuddered, cried out as Tony thrust up into him. Bucky maintained a smooth, steady rhythm, like the chanting of penance, until he was quivering all over, the very tips of his wings brushing against Tony’s skin. He fell forward, heavy and hot, until he was pressed chest to chest with Tony, seeking his mouth for a kiss. He slid his tongue in, thrusting with increasing urgency as his rhythm stuttered, faltered, turned into wild, desperate jerking. “Tony!”

“I’m here, I’ve got you.” Tony reached for Bucky’s hands and clasped their fingers together, holding tight, even as his tail redoubled its efforts against Bucky’s straining cock. “Come on, beautiful, give it to me.” His own breath was coming fast and short as he felt his climax closing in around him.

Bucky shook all over, crying out, his fingers squeezing down on Tony’s, his inner walls tightening impossibly. He spilled over Tony’s tail, across his belly, his face gloriously blissful. Tony rocked him through it, each twitch and shiver a perfect torment as he chased sensation. Bucky moaned again as Tony’s dick jerked inside him, a shivering wreck of angelic rapture.

Tony threw his head back and let himself release, let the pleasure wash through him, Bucky’s weight on top of him the perfect counterpoint to the way his body wanted to float away with bliss. He cried out and arched up into Bucky, crying out the angel’s Name, feeling it flare hot in his palm where it was etched.

Bucky practically flopped on top of him, wings covering them both. “I’m dead,” he told Tony, breath shivering into Tony’s ear. “You’ve killed me.”

Tony laughed softly. “You’ll rise again in three days.”

 

“I’m going to stop for ice cream on the way home, and I don’t want to be good,” Bucky had told him, tucking the halo into Tony’s pocket before he left.

Which was the only reason Tony had it when the sky went ominously dark. The celestial metal glowed hot and angry, practically burning a literal hole in Tony’s pocket as the door to the orphanage slammed open. The building was sturdy, and most of it had been blessed at one point or another by Tony’s wayward angel.

The fact that the stranger yanked it off its hinges did not bode well.

The two children in the front lobby ran, screaming, for their rooms, and their volunteer nursemaid slid to the floor in a dead faint.

The demon that strode in, leaving smoldering hoofprints behind on the linoleum, wasn’t wearing a vessel. The stench of brimstone clung to him like a cloud. No face, just a dripping, bloody skull protruded from what appeared a mockery of a human military uniform. His tail was long, lizard-like, with a heavy, spiny end that left tearing marks in the floor. The amount of malignant corruption that adhered to him, he probably _couldn’t_ wear a vessel, he’d burn through it like baelfire to a newspaper.

“Traitor,” the demon snarled. “Stand forth and hear my demands.”

Tony’s wings spread wide without conscious thought. “You have no power here, demon. Do not seek to make demands of me.”

“It is not power here that should concern you,” the demon said. “What _should_ concern you is the foolish little angel who ventured out into the streets without his halo this morning. Raise a hand to me, and you will never see him again.”

Terror gripped Tony’s heart in an icy fist. “What have you done with him?” he demanded. “Where is he?”

“Carefully now, blacksmith,” the demon said. “There are places in the Pit where even one such as yourself might fear to tread. You want him back, your precious, innocent _Bucky_? You’ll listen well, and do as I bid, and you might earn his release. I am called Red Skull. You have, no doubt, heard of me.”

“Imaginative,” Tony sneered, because it was imperative that he not show any weakness. He _had_ heard of the Red Skull, a demon whose ruthlessness made Tony’s most vile demonic behaviors seem saint-like. “Say your piece, and get out.”

“Your pet angel has been delivered into the care of my second, Zola,” Red Skull said, “where he will learn anguish and suffering, the likes of which are reserved for the blackest of betrayers. I don’t know how long he will survive, really, the poor thing.”

Tony had heard of Zola, too. One of the more creative torturers that Hell had to offer. His hands clenched into fists of rage. “Are you _mad?_ Even _Lucifer_ only torments the damned.”

“Lucifer thinks to _bargain_ with God. To obtain Forgiveness and Amnesty. Bah. He has grown weak. It is time for a new King of Hell.” The demon reached into his jacket and pulled out--

Three halos, shining and golden.

“I have obtained these through force. The new maker is far, far weaker than you ever were. You will take them, and you will forge a mighty weapon for me, one capable of toppling the very Gates of Heaven.”

“You _are_ mad,” Tony breathed. “You want to start another War?”

“I _welcome_ it,” Red Skull said. “The Hordes will follow me, as hungry for revenge as they are. Banished from Heaven, we will take it by force, rather than beg God for mercy. We are demons!”  

Well, Tony had once felt the same way, though it had never been his ambition to start another War with Heaven. He looked at the halos on the floor, their beauty somewhat dimmed by the absence of their angels, and felt his way around it. “If I do this,” Tony said, “you’ll give me Bucky back.”

Red Skull held up one hand, the obsidian claw long and deadly and scratched an X over his heart, black blood oozing out of the wound. “I give you my word as a demon, Bucky will be released as soon as the weapon is in my hand.”

Tony trusted a demon’s word about as far as he could throw the demon, but a blood oath was something puissant. “And you won’t--” _Hurt him_ , Tony nearly said, but the mere _presence_ of demons would be painful to Bucky’s sweet innocence. If they were holding Bucky in Hell, then the best Tony could hope for was... “You won’t kill him. He’ll be returned to me alive.”

“We won’t kill him,” Red Skull laughed. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Tony would have to move fast. Seething, he collected the halos with his tail, curling it around them almost protectively. “Fine. Then go away and let me work.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Red Skull said. He pulled a single, broken feather from his jacket. “Proof, in case you don’t trust me. And--” He blurred, faster than Tony could track, and less than a blink later, he was behind Tony, those claws in Tony’s wings. With a sharp, agonizing jerk, Red Skull yanked one of Tony’s main pinions out at the shaft. “I promised our little bird I’d bring him one back. To remember you. I think I’ll let him hold it, while Zola puts his feet in the coals.”

The demon vanished with a crack like thunder.

Tony was left cradling Bucky’s broken feather -- no question but that it was Bucky’s; it all but glowed with Bucky’s aura.

Tony wanted to fall to his knees and scream at the injustice, his innocent, beautiful Bucky being subjected to Hell’s torments like some faithless sinner -- but he had no time for that. He had to get to work, and that quickly, if he wanted to spare Bucky as much pain as he could.

The problem with smithing halos was that the material was extremely flexible before it was shaped -- and all but impossible to work once it had been shaped. Melding broken pieces together was barely just possible, but any kind of true Working... That would require the Forge.

Which meant that Tony was Heaven-bound.

Tony had been to Heaven exactly twice since his wings had been restored. He hadn’t much cared for it, either time. The angels despised him for having once Fallen, no matter that he had earned the Lord’s Forgiveness. But no hellfire burned hot enough to shape a halo. The only fire hot enough for that was in Heaven’s Forge.

And to use the Forge, Tony would have to deal with--

“Anthony! My old buddy!”

Justin.

Having earned Forgiveness, Tony was supposed to be practicing love. But Justin made it so _easy_ to hate him. How that smarmy bastard hadn’t Fallen or been struck down by one of Lucifer’s forces, Tony did not know.

Well, he _did_ know, really. Justin had been too much of a coward to take up arms during the War, that was how. He’d clutched his sword and hidden in the back of the Host, pretending to be running errands or carrying messages, until the last of Lucifer’s supporters had Fallen. And then he’d dared to claim part in the victory, had dared to take up Tony’s place at the Forge.

And now he dared to call Tony _friend_.

“Justin,” he growled. “I’m not here to talk. I need to use the Forge.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Justin purred. “Just a little word of advice, though -- your halo is looking a little peaked, there. You might want to shore it up some.”

Tony glared at Justin. His (and Bucky’s) halo was _fine_. They weren’t angels, they didn’t need or want a halo that looked like an angel’s. “Get out,” he snapped.

Somewhat surprisingly, Justin actually stood up to that. “I’ll just work over there, shall I?” he said, and it was a compromise, but it would have to do. Tony didn’t have time to argue with Justin over it. He needed to get to work. He waited until Justin’s back was turned, and threw the three halos into the fire to be softened.

They wouldn’t melt entirely -- that was against the nature of the material -- but they would soften. Become malleable, somewhat.

While they heated, he selected his tools, a hammer and a grip and a Grace siphon.

Halos didn’t create Grace -- that came from God’s love -- but they stored it, let an angel save it up for future need. Most halos were linked inextricably with the angel who owned it, but these three had no owners. Red Skull had killed them. Unmade them. It was horrific and unsettling, and Tony didn’t want to know how long Red Skull had been working toward this plan, how long he had been watching and waiting for hapless young angels to wander where he could destroy them.

He didn’t want to know how easily Bucky might have been one of them.

It was difficult to take a halo that had once been claimed by an angel and reshape it so that it could be claimed by another. But this wasn’t that task -- this was something immeasurably harder. Tony had to meld these halos into a weapon that could be wielded by anyone, angel or demon.

There was a little of Bucky’s Grace left in Tony’s and Bucky’s shared halo. Tony hoped it would be enough for what he had in mind.

He fished the halos out of the Forge and picked up his hammer. Once, he would have sung as he worked, unleashing his angelic voice in songs of prayer, letting the vibrations suffuse the material, imbuing it with faith and joy.

Now, he worked in silence, lifting and dropping the hammer in steady rhythm. Flattening and merging the three halos. Twisting them, inch by painstaking inch, until they were braided and twisted and turned. Until they could no longer be separated, until the three were one.

Tony heard nothing besides the ringing of the hammer, saw nothing but the vision in his mind and the shape in front of him. Felt nothing but the searing heat of the Forge.

He flattened the edge, making it thinner and thinner, until it was thin enough to cut paper, to slice a hair, to slice a soul from its body. He had made swords, once, for Lucifer’s’ rebellion. Those might as well be bludgeons compared to the elegant, deadly delicacy of this weapon.

He carefully laid in the Grace siphon, and folded the grip around it.

“You, ah, hey, Tony,” intruded Justin. “I don’t wanna try to tell you your business, buddy, but, you know, it’s been a few years, maybe you’re a bit rusty, I don’t know. But you forgot the reservoir. I don’t want to be in the way, but I just thought someone should mention it, you know?”

“No, I didn’t,” Tony said shortly. If Tony _had_ forgotten the reservoir, it would be too late to add it without starting over again. Justin, Tony decided all over again, was a dick.

But this wasn’t a halo. It was a weapon. Its purpose wasn’t to store Grace, but to destroy.

Tony wrapped the grip carefully around the siphon. Carefully, gently, he pulled at the Grace he had left to him and worked it into the weapon. Justin had fallen silent, at least. That was a blessing. Tony laid his (Bucky’s) Grace into the weapon’s edge, into its grip. Creating its function and its purpose. He would have no more than a few drops left, by the time it was done; he hoped it would be enough to heal Bucky.

He didn’t know how long he worked, only that he dared not stop or rest or make a single mistake. In the end, it was the most perfect, beautiful, and terrible thing he had ever created.

“Anthony,” a soft voice said, naggingly familiar. It made him want to straighten his spine, to snap to attention, and at the same time, to fall to his knees. “What mischief are you working, here?”

Michael, archangel, who was like unto God, was the epitome of the phrase “speak softly and carry a big stick.” The commander of God’s armies, the best warrior, strongest, second only to the Lord in power and praise. He leaned on a ridiculously oversized broadsword. Tony had made it, once, a lifetime ago.

Tony bent his head in a sketch of a bow, but didn’t allow himself to kneel. He picked up the weapon and held it carefully. “No mischief, Michael. Only work.” He lifted his head to find Justin again, hovering behind Michael’s arm.

The little rat. He’d figured out what Tony was making -- or enough of it, anyway; it would likely take aeons for Justin to put together all the pieces the way Tony had -- and run to tattle.

The last weapon Tony had made, after all, had been for Lucifer.

“It’s beautiful,” Michael said. “Perhaps your finest creation. Truly, the Forge has been lacking your deft touch.” Justin didn’t even bother to hide his offended face at that. Michael ignored the current celestial smith and held out one hand, expecting Tony to hand over his creation.  

“I can’t,” Tony said. He felt sorrow as he said it, a true, deep sadness. “It’s not for you.”

“Anthony, even you must realize, I cannot allow you to take such a thing past the Gates.” Michael barely shifted his stance; he was a warrior, even more deadly than the line of Samael, and Tony could only just hold his own against his lover, with all the advantages he’d just poured into the weapon. He couldn’t hope to beat Michael in a fair fight. No one could.

Well. He was at least half demon, so he’d have to make it an unfair fight.

Tony stepped back, and Michael raised his sword in one fluid motion. “Anthony,” he said gently. “Don’t make me do this.”

Tony swallowed drily; Michael’s broadsword was not the most elegant weapon Tony had ever created, but it was certainly the strongest. And yet, every weapon had its breaking-point. Tiny flaws that only its creator would be able to see.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Tony said. “I have to. It’s for Bucky.”

“Heaven and Hell hang in the balance, and you do this, you create this, for one angel? Anthony, please, you must see reason.”

“Bucky _is_ my reason.” Tony whispered a prayer, then raised his weapon and unleashed its meager power -- not at Michael, but at Michael’s sword. The microscopic wrinkle in its fold burst, and the sword shattered in Michael’s hands.

Tony fled, as fast as his wings and legs could propel him, before the glittering shards even began to settle.

“You work fast, blacksmith,” Red Skull said. He appeared out of nowhere, almost the moment Tony got back to Earth. “If I hadn’t suspected you to be _adequately_ motivated, I might even be impressed.”

“Complete with a demonstration of its capabilities,” Tony snarled. “Now, I want my Bucky back.”

“Yes, yes, rumor flies even more swiftly than a single demon with the Host at his back,” Red Skull said. It was impossible to say the demon smiled; there were no lips to press against that face, no muscles to twitch. But he did give the _impression_ of smiling. It was not a comforting impression. “Your Bucky, for the weapon. Hand it over. And Zola will release him. Just as we agreed.”  

Zola appeared, not close enough to grab, a limp body in his arms, wrapped in a single sheet, dripping with golden blood.

_Oh God, have you forsaken us?_ Tony dragged his eyes from that limp body to Red Skull’s lack of a face. “You promised he would be alive,” he growled. “I will demonstrate this weapon again _on you_ if you’ve broken your oath.”

“He lives, blacksmith,” Red Skull said. “Shall I have Zola make him scream, to prove it?” Red Skull made a single gesture and the other demon dumped Bucky’s still form to the ground. Bucky rolled over twice, stripped naked and his wings had been plucked as if he were a chicken, mere bone and flesh. His body seemed strangely lopsided. Zola nudged him with a slender staff.

Bucky arched up, screaming as lightning crackled down the staff and into his battered body. And he kept screaming, terrible, agonizing sounds.

“Stop it!” Tony yelled. “Just-- Stop!” He thrust the weapon at Red Skull and flung himself at Bucky. “Oh, angel, sweetheart...” He gathered Bucky up into his arms, heedless of the golden blood that still sluggishly flowed from--

Tony looked up at Zola with his best Hell-to-pay glare. “You _cut off his arm_?”

The little demon, bald and squat and smiling a watery, creepy smile, rubbed his hands together. “Cut is, perhaps, the wrong word,” Zola said. “Wrenched, maybe. Tore. Rent. You understand, we must be precise. For _science_.”

Tony ground his teeth until sparks flew past his lips. “Take your damned weapon and _go_. Before I tear off something of yours.”

The sky split apart with righteous wrath; the Host was coming. A dozen of Michael’s best troops poured out of the hole, with Michael leading them. He held an inferior sword -- one of Justin’s no doubt -- but even poorly armed, Michael was not an angel to underestimate. And he would not be taken by surprise a second time.

“Ah, and you deliver my greatest enemy to me,” Red Skull said. “Truly, you have gone above and beyond what I asked of you, blacksmith. I am well pleased.”

Tony ignored him, ignored Michael and the Host. All he could focus on was Bucky’s bleeding, juddering body. He tried to wrap the mangled stump of Bucky’s arm in the discarded sheet, only dimly registering Red Skull’s posturing or Michael’s speaking at all. “Angel, we’re going to fix this,” he promised, even though he wasn’t sure Bucky could even hear him. “I’m so, so sorry, beautiful.”

Bucky managed to open his eyes, the blue almost gone, his pupils wide and terrified. “Don’t, don’t, no,” he protested. The stump of his arm flailed weakly, as if he wasn’t quite certain what happened to his arm, as if he didn’t know it was gone. “No, no more, please no more.” He was whimpering, his eyes unfocused.

Red Skull raised the weapon--  

Tony couldn’t help but watch, even as he clutched Bucky closer to him. He’d used up almost all his remaining Grace shattering Michael’s sword. Without any stored Grace, the weapon activated its siphon to pull Grace from its wielder, just as Tony designed it.

But Red Skull didn’t have Grace. The weapon pulled, and pulled, and pulled. Activated, it wouldn’t stop now. Red Skull could feel it now -- he turned to stare accusingly at Tony. Tony allowed himself a grim smile, even if he couldn’t actually feel any satisfaction, not with Bucky still weakly struggling in his arms. But the Red Skull deserved that, deserved to be unmade knowing that it was Tony who had engineered it.

Having your essence ripped out of you by a weapon sharp enough to sever souls probably hurt a lot. Tony hoped it did, anyway. He looked back down at Bucky. “It’s okay, Bucky,” he said gently. “I’m going to make it right.”

Bucky stared at him, confused. “Who… who the hell is _Bucky_?”

Red Skull screamed and then-- it stopped, as even the very atoms that made up his fallen celestial form were torn apart. There wasn’t enough of Red Skull left to fill a thimble.

Zola squeaked in dismay as his powerful patron disintegrated and gestured, as if getting ready to transport himself to safety. Michael’s sword moved until it was directly at the demon-torturer’s heart. “Do not, unless you wish to join him. You have much to answer for, Fallen. I am inclined to make hearing the answers take a considerable amount of time.”

Tony was demon enough still to enjoy Zola’s fear in the face of Michael’s wrath. But the greater part of him was far more concerned with Bucky. “Honey, no, that’s-- Bucky, angel, it’s Tony, don’t you know me?”

“I don’t… I can’t…” His gaze jumped from Tony’s face, over to where Zola was attempting to bargain for his miserable existence. Terror, then, and he cringed into Tony’s embrace. “I… I… I can’t feel anything anymore.”

There was another crack and boom and the Host vanished, their prisoner in tow. Except for one angel, dark and slight and wearing robes that were pale blue instead of the normal white. Raphael, the healer. He took a step forward, hands held out. “Anthony,” he said. “Your weapon? If you will allow it? I may have some ideas.”

The weapon lay, almost forgotten, on the ground. Nothing of Red Skull remained.

Tony picked it up. “It... it shouldn’t exist,” he said. “I only made it to save Bucky.” Raphael wasn’t a killer. Hadn’t been, even in the War, though he’d walked unafraid through the raging battle to heal his brethren. Tony cautiously laid the weapon in Raphael’s hands.

Grace as great as the archangel’s, channeled through the weapon, would easily unmake Tony and Bucky together. Tony held Bucky close and watched -- not unafraid, but accepting.

“It is beautiful,” Raphael said. “And terrible. A weapon such as this could tear down the gates, either Heaven or Hell. You are a very dangerous being, Anthony, knowing how to make weapons like this. I fear for you, but perhaps, the best way to make certain that you do not make any more of them to to make certain that you do not need to.”

Raphael took his flask from his belt and knelt at Tony’s side. Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen an archangel kneel before, except in the presence of the Lord. “Here, child of Samael, drink this.”

Bucky didn’t seem to know Raphael any more than he knew Tony, but something in the healer’s voice calmed him, and he did as Raphael bid.

“Now, just a little change,” Raphael said, and he directed his Will at the weapon. Amplified, as Raphael called out to the Lord for succor to the wounded and frightened. The Lord’s Will, even channeled through an angel, was blinding and Tony had to shield his eyes from it.

When the light faded, instead of the weapon, there was a silvery, glowing arm. Raphael slid it over the stump of Bucky’s left arm. “Give me a few drops of your blood, to bind it to him. It is your hand that created this, for love of the angel you hold. It is your hope, and your Grace, that must give it life.”

Tony would have shed every drop of his blood for Bucky, and he willingly dragged a claw over the palm of his hand, underlining Bucky’s Name there. But... “I have no Grace beyond that which he gives me.”

“You are certain of that?” Raphael’s eyebrow went up.

“Only God and fools are certain,” Tony said automatically.

“Perhaps you have more than you think,” Raphael said. “Who are you, little angel, to say who God can and cannot love? Try, we shall see.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He pressed his hand against Bucky’s shoulder, where the transformed weapon met skin, and prayed. _Oh God, not for my unworthy hide but for Your angel, who has suffered for loving too well... Thy Will be done._

Bucky’s eyes met his for a moment. The angel shivered, and then--

There was a surge of power, like light in liquid form, and the fingers twitched. Bucky raised the silvery hand and stared at it.

“There, you see?” Raphael asked. “God is great. And still, this is a thing that can tear down the Gates, if need be. Use him, and it, well.”

Raphael was a little less melodramatic than Michael, and instead of disappearing in a crack of thunder, Tony blinked, and he was gone, as if he’d never existed.

Bucky moved his hand again, shining and lovely. He stretched his right hand over and touched the palm with wondering fingertips. “Is this… mine? Is this me?”

“I made it for you,” Tony said, full of wonder at the transformation. “So yes, it’s yours. It’s you.” He watched Bucky for a moment, and he seemed... better. Somewhat healed. No longer bleeding, though his wings were still naked of feathers and his eyes were still too full of confusion. “Can I... Can I take you home?”

“Who are you?” Bucky was still staring at his left hand, but then he turned, and Tony’s angelic name was still there, large and pale, across his right. “Do I know you?” He rubbed at Tony’s name with the shining, silver thumb. “Do… do you know me?”

Tony swallowed and opened his hand. The wound there had already healed, and Bucky’s name shone through the drying blood. “That’s you,” Tony told him. “Bucky. We... we know each other. Yes.”

“All right,” Bucky said, docile and calm. “I’ll go with you.”

Tony’s heart ached and he wanted to scream. What had happened to his vibrant, happy lover? He closed his fist around Bucky’s Name like holding onto a promise: if the Name was still there, then _Bucky_ was still in there, somewhere. He would come back. He had to come back.

Tony climbed to his feet and helped Bucky to stand, keeping Bucky’s hand in his own, unable to relinquish Bucky again. He tipped the halo off his head and laid it gently over Bucky’s. “That’s yours,” he said, and his voice didn’t shake. “Don’t take it off. Come on, home is this way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... uh, that happened?
> 
> We have chapter three all ready for you tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky’s time in Hell has left him frightened and uncertain of who he even is. Will Tony be patient enough to help him back from the edge of the Abyss?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art by [KingConniption](https://kingconniption.tumblr.com/)

__

_“Do you know where you are?”_

_Bucky struggled against the chains that held him, hands stretched up painfully. He was balanced on his toes, unable to get any leverage. When he was too weak, he fell, scraping his ankles on the chains that held him down, yanking his arms even harder._

_He’d stopped praying a while ago. It had nothing to do with losing faith, his faith was stronger than ever, but he knew where he was._

_“Hell,” he spat. It took some effort to pull himself upright again._

_God couldn’t hear him, in hell. Hell was nothing, except the absence of God. His prayers did nothing. God could not hear him. God could not help him._

_Bucky turned his wrist, let his fingers uncurl. Tony couldn’t hear him either, but just his name, present and warm and loving, on Bucky’s skin, gave him strength._

_God helps those who help themselves._

_“Look at yourself, angel,” the voice said again._

_Bucky closed his eyes. It was the only act of defiance he had left. He would not look at himself in the mirror they had situated in front of him, would not see his stripped and plucked wings. Would not look at his bleeding and naked body. Would not look. They couldn’t make him._

_The lash of fire came down on his back again, searing him to the bone._

_Bucky stumbled, fell forward again. Kept his eyes closed._

_They couldn’t make him._

_“Look at yourself!”_

_Bucky opened his eyes, unfolded his fingers._

__

_“You think I can’t make you?”_

_Bucky shuddered. Had he said that to Tony once? He couldn’t remember anymore, not through the fuzz of pain and terror, hopelessness and despair. He let his eyes slip shut again. He was pure. He was an angel. He was the embodiment of God’s love. This pain was only to that body. It was not him. He was not here, this body could be hurt, but he would endure._

_God helps those who help themselves._

_“You will look where I tell you to look. You will see what you are. No angel at all, but a simple sinner. Black and stained and forgotten. No one knows your name. You don’t_ have _a name anymore.”_

_Bucky checked his palm again. Tony knew who he was. Tony would not let him be forgotten. Tony would get him back. Bucky knew that like he knew his own name._

_“What’s your name?”_

_And there was pain, pain like he’d never known. The lash was nothing. The fire was nothing. There was pain as his arm was taken and_ ripped _. Wrenched. The bone splintered, muscle tore, skin shredded._

_Bucky was screaming, he was screaming, he was…_

_“What’s your name?”_

_“I don’t… I don’t know!”_

_There were hands on him, hands shaking him, and--_

“Bucky! Angel, wake up!” Someone was standing over the bed, hands on his shoulders. “Wake up, honey, it’s a nightmare, it’s not real.”

“I’m not, I’m _not_ ,” the sinner gasped, unable to keep from flinching away from those hands, from that grip, even as soft as it was. “I’m not! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He waited, cringing, for the lash to fall, for the pain, for… something. It was always something, wasn’t it? He kept his hands closed, didn’t look, didn’t look, he wasn’t supposed to look.

“Honey.” The hands were gone, but the person didn’t move. “Look at me, can you look at me, please? Just focus right here. I’m right here.”

It was a trap, it had to be. He wasn’t supposed to look, but he wasn’t supposed to disobey, either. He hovered for a moment between obedience and terror. He opened his eyes, glanced at the person in front of him. A demon, but not a demon. An angel, but like no angel that the sinner had ever seen before, with wings like fire and small scars on his temples.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” He let himself breathe. “Did I--” _bother you? Upset you? Make you angry?_

“You were having a nightmare,” the not-demon said, very gently. He didn’t seem angry. “Do you remember?”

“Am I supposed to?” He remembered. He remembered, but he didn’t want to. He wanted all that to go away, to have happened to someone else, something else, to _never_ have happened. What had he done that was so terrible that he’d deserved that? He didn’t remember that part.  

“You don’t have to,” the not-demon said. He took a breath, let it out slowly. “Do you know who I am?”

He squeezed his hand tighter, kept his fingers curled. _What do you want me to say?_ He tried to think through the fear in his mind. “The… the weapon-maker,” he decided. That seemed safe enough. Maybe. Hopefully. Some answer was maybe better than no answer at all.

The not-demon smiled a little, but it looked sad. “You’re still caught in the nightmare, hm?” He held up his own hand, fingers spread wide. “See this? That’s your name.”

“No!” The sinner reached out, grabbed the not-demon’s hands and closed it. “No, no, you mustn’t. It’s bad. It’s bad. It’s a _bad thing_.” The not-demon’s skin was warm, and he found himself rubbing his thumb over the back of the other’s hand, as if trying to soothe. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I won’t… I won’t tell them.”

The not-demon sighed and put his other hand over the sinner’s, pressing gently. “Okay, angel,” he said softly. “Not tonight. Do you want some water? Or something to eat?”

This was nice, their hands locked together and no one hurting. He could do that, right. The not-demon wasn’t angry.

He hated questions. Questions were dangerous. Questions were traps. There weren’t any right answers. There was never anything he could say to make them stop. He swallowed hard. “Should I drink now?” He was shivering, cold. His radius ached, trying to spread wings that weren’t there. He wanted his feathers. Wanted to feel them, wanted to be able to twist the ends, like he’d always done when he was nervous. There was no outlet for his nerves, just waiting. Endless waiting to see if he’d done something wrong. Again.

Because he must have done _something_ wrong.

The not-demon very gently brushed his hair back from his face. “Yeah, you’re still deep in it.” He picked up a glass of water from the table by the bed and held it out. “Take a couple of sips for me, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

There was something soothing about that. The not-demon’s hand in his hair. He took a sip of water and the petting continued. The second those fingers stilled, he took another sip. Was it enough? He didn’t want it to stop, it was nice to be touched and not hurt. He didn’t dare move much. But the not-demon was still petting him and telling him it was going to be okay, and even if the sinner didn’t believe that -- it was never going to be okay -- he liked to pretend. Just a little bit.

He kept his right hand curled tight. Just in case.

After a while, the not-demon took the glass away and put it back on the table. “Let’s try to get some more sleep.” The not-demon helped the sinner lie down again, and kept petting his hair. “That’s right,” he said, “you’re doing just right, you’re being so good. I’ll stay right beside you, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Okay. Okay. He could be good. He _would_ be good.

Eventually the petting stopped. He raised his right hand up to his face. He didn’t look, he wouldn’t look. Closed his eyes, to avoid temptation. Placed a single kiss in his own palm, curled his fingers around it, to keep it safe. Something important had happened to his hand, once. He just wished he could remember what it was.

He woke up, curled around the not-demon. The not-demon’s tail was draped over the sinner’s hip. He didn’t know if it was allowed, but… he remembered. Remembered something. He reached for the tail, two fingers, stroked down the spaded end. A faint sense of… taste? He’d tasted it? Had it in his mouth? Why? His mouth flooded with saliva at the thought, and everything quivered. His thighs ached from clenching them so hard.

_It has a mind of its own, sometimes._

The not-demon was still sleeping.

The sinner’s hand hurt from keeping it locked tight.

_See, see, this is me._

“... tony…”

Warm brown eyes opened, distant and unfocused at first, and then sharpening as they looked at him. “Did you... Did you say something, sweetheart?”

“That’s you.” He used the shiny metal finger to point at his other hand. It hurt, his wrist hurt, and he couldn’t seem to unbend his fingers. If Tony hurt him, if it was the wrong thing to say, maybe at least he would _know_. He would have one, solid fact. It was important.

Tony smiled, though, those pretty eyes lighting up. “That’s right! That’s me.” He wrapped his hand around the sinner’s, and shifted a little to kiss the tight-clenched knuckles. “You’re remembering. That’s good.”

Nothing bad happened.

That was good, too.

“I don’t remember,” the sinner said. Tony was nice. Tony hadn’t hurt him, not once. Maybe Tony would tell him some more things that were true. “What…” His throat ached, trying to form the question. “What did I do?”

Tony frowned, just a little. Not as if he were angry, but as if he were confused. “When?”

He reached for his wings again, disturbed when they weren’t there.

_Did it hurt, when you Fell?_

“Why?” He didn’t know how to ask, but he couldn’t be sorry, couldn’t have pennance, couldn’t be forgiven, if he didn’t even know what he’d done.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Tony said, very softly. “I don’t know what you’re asking me. I... Why are you hurt, do you mean?”

“What did I do? Why… why did this happen? What… what sin did I commit?” He was desperate now, desperate for some sort of answer, some _reason_ , something.

“Oh. Oh, sweetheart.” Tony brushed back his hair again, and looked very, very sad. “You didn’t do anything wrong. They hurt you because they’re, they’re evil. Because they wanted to hurt you, because they wanted to hurt _me_ by hurting you.”

“Did it?” He looked up, but the sadness in those eyes was too much. He ducked his chin down so he didn’t have to see anymore.

_Look at yourself!_

I _won’t_. His jaw jutted out in silent defiance.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “It hurt a lot. Not as much as it hurt you, obviously. I’m... I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back, make it so it never happened.” Tony petted his hair again. “But I’m going to take care of you. It’s okay.”

“Okay, Tony.” He finally managed to open his hand, stretch his fingers. He didn’t look, though. But… “It’s there, right?” He held his hand out. Tony could look, it was okay, that was okay, right?

Tony caught his hand and pressed his mouth to the palm, very gently. “That’s good, angel, that’s so good, thank you. It’s there, it’s right there, waiting for you, whenever you’re ready to see it.” He kissed it again, then pressed the hand to the side of his face, cupping his jaw. “Just like your name is on my hand, too.”

Touching Tony’s face felt nice, the skin under his palm, the way his lips moved, the soft puff of his breath. He reached for Tony’s hand and gently unfolded the fingers. He didn’t look, he didn’t want to look. But he repeated Tony’s gesture, pressing his lips to Tony’s palm. Underneath his mouth, the angelic script flared and flickered. “We did this,” he said. “I did this. To you.” He couldn’t remember why, or when. But it was important.

Tony nodded, and his eyes crinkled a little with his smile. “You did. I did. It was a good thing. It made me happy. And you too, I think.”

“Okay.” He kissed Tony’s hand again, and then folded his fingers back up. “I’m trying to be good.”

“You _are_ good,” Tony said, and he sounded so certain. “You’re healing, and you’re trying to remember us. You’re so strong, I’m so proud to know you.”

He bit his lip, and then nodded. It would be okay. It would be okay. Tony told him so, and there was something deep inside that said _you will never hurt me. I’m not afraid of you._

He thought that was true. He thought it was, but he didn’t say so. If he was wrong, he didn’t want to know. Not just yet.

“Mr. Stark,” the woman said, “I’m--oh, my goodness, what happened?” She was human, pure human, her soul a mix of goodness, generosity, pity. She reached out and touched the sinner’s shoulder like she had some right to do so, and when she did, he could, for only an instant, see what she saw. A normal, human man, bedraggled and wounded, broken arm and a bandage wrapped around his head.

“Mr. Barnes was struck by a taxi,” Tony was saying, and the sinner could taste the lie in the air, but it was a lie of kindness, because too much truth would hurt the human woman, who was only doing what she believed was right. “He’s got a bad concussion, among other things. But hopefully, he’ll be better soon. What’s up?”

She pulled a baby stroller into the room. “Well, someone left us a new one,” she said, picking up a squalling infant, dressed in a purple jumper. “No papers, just a note, saying this was Clint. He’s not settling in, and the crying is bothering some of the other children. I was --” she flashed a look at the sinner again “--Mr. Barnes is so good with the children, I was hoping he might work his magic. But if he’s got a broken arm--?”

The sinner blinked, then almost eagerly reached out. “I think I can manage,” he said. With the woman’s help, he settled the baby into the crook of his right arm. Clint was tiny, humans were so _tiny_. Sharp teeth, though. The baby grabbed hold of the sinner’s left hand and bit down on the metal fingers, sending a bright, shivering jolt up the new arm.

Tony was watching the sinner intently, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Ms. Hill,” Tony said, not looking away. “We’ll take care of him and let you get back to your duties.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Ms. Hill said. She gave the sinner one last, worried look. “I’ll pray for you.”

The sinner shuddered, and the infant squirmed in his grasp, forcing the sinner to pay attention to what he was doing.

Tony crouched beside him and brushed a hand over the baby’s soft head. “You remember this, huh? At least a little.”

“He’s so small,” the sinner said. The baby was chewing on the sinner’s thumb, sometimes making a little noise, but the out and out wailing had stopped. That was good. The child’s distress had filled the sinner with the desire to _do something_. “This is… what you do? What _he_ did?” The sinner had discovered that thinking of _Bucky_ as someone else, something different, a person, an angel that wasn’t him, that made it easier. He could ask questions about someone else, what they’d done, or been like. And it didn’t scrape quite so raw. The cuts, bruises he had, those were healing, but something else was bleeding, something deep inside him that he couldn’t even see, much less heal.

“What _we_ do, yes,” Tony said. Tony did not like it when the sinner referred to Bucky as someone else, but he didn’t get angry about it, just carefully insisted that the sinner was Bucky. “We take care of children who don’t have parents, or whose parents can’t take care of them. We try to find them new homes.”

The boy whimpered again, and the sinner rocked back and forth, slowly, soothing. “Suffer the little children,” he murmured, “to come unto me.” It was nice. The little boy smelled good, like warm milk and clean clothes and powder. It was little enough, that the sinner could provide some comfort, and like a mirror, the comfort was returned to him.

_Pay back what you owe._

“There are many children? Who need new homes?” That was horrifying. Each child was a miracle, each child deserved a warm bed and nourishing food and a bit of love. It was little enough to ask. And yet, he’d sat in this room with Tony all morning and watched the not-demon sort through papers and fill them out and make calls, each one of some importance in a dance of logistics that the sinner didn’t understand. Each one to keep these children fed and warm, housed and loved.

“More than there should be, yes,” Tony sighed. “And a lot of rules about who can take them in.”

The child’s mouth opened, and the sinner’s thumb slipped down the downy cheek. “He’s sleeping,” the sinner reported. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to give the baby back, job accomplished, but it was nice just to sit here, to be given a simple task that he could achieve. The tiny warm form, resting against his chest, was melting something cold and frozen solid deep under his ribs. He didn’t _want_ to give the boy back. He hesitated, not sure if there would be punishment. If not for him, would they hurt the _child_?

No, _no_ , Tony had said they were helping the children. He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, then closed it again, holding the child closer, cradling him, cuddling.  

Tony watched him with a soft smile until the phone rang, and then his attention was on his work again, leaving the sinner to the warmth of the child.

Days passed, and then weeks.

The sinner learned; he learned to answer to the name Bucky, even if it never felt like his own, even if it never felt like anything less than poison or fire, like shock and pain. He learned the work that Tony did, that _Bucky_ had done. He learned to prepare food, and that _Bucky_ had liked to dip his fried potatoes into milkshakes, and he did that, even if it didn’t taste like anything but ash in his mouth.

He wore his halo constantly, although it merely hovered above his hair and didn’t give him any comfort. It was flat and dull. There was no Grace in it.

They brought in carpenters to repair the damage that Red Skull had done to their building and the new materials were ordinary and unblessed, but the sinner didn’t know how to call the words of praise to his lips, didn’t know how to imbue wood and metal with love.

Tony didn’t seem to mind, he never got angry. Sometimes he got very, very sad, and the sinner knew it was his fault.

Each night, they twined together in the small bed and lay there, sleeping, or pretending to sleep, dreaming or not.

And it sometimes seemed like other things had once happened there.

_Behold, a miracle!_

Sometimes Tony would kiss the sinner’s palm. Or his forehead. Angels didn’t do that, but they weren’t angels, were they?

He didn’t know what they were.

But there was routine. And slowly, the sinner healed of his wounds.

The feathers of his wings grew back, but they weren’t white and stainless as they’d once been. They weren’t soft as a cloud and they didn’t glow with their own righteous light.

Instead, they grew in sleek and almost hard, and black as night, with reddish tips, like a scarlet tanager in reverse. If the sinner mantled and wrapped himself up in them, he all but vanished, invisible and protected.

He didn’t like them. They frightened him, and the sinner kept them folded behind his back, where he didn’t have to see them, like some malignant shadow. He didn’t know what Tony thought. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Tony wasn’t the same anymore. He was sad. Each morning, there was less hope in him than had been there before, and the sinner knew it was his fault. He couldn’t be what _Tony_ needed. He didn’t know how.

Once, he woke to find that Tony was no longer in their bed, but standing by the window, looking out into the neon-lit night, tears coursing unchecked down that handsome face, lips moving soundlessly.

The sinner slipped from the warmth and comfort of blankets. “Tony?” He went to stand beside his… dare he claim it, friend? “You’re sad.”

Tony’s eyes remained on the world outside, but he reached for the sinner’s hand, pressed it against his face, kissed the palm. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I just don’t know why you won’t come back to me.”

_There’s no me to come back._

“I pray, sometimes,” he confessed. The first time he’d done it, he was startled to find the words didn’t burn in his mouth, didn’t blister his lips. “I pray to God for help, and when I open my eyes, there you are. And I pray for strength, to get through this, and you’re right there. I ask God to guide me and He tells me I already have everything I need. That I must return back that which I am given, that I must pay what I owe.”

A sob choked Tony’s throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. “You keep saying things that make it sound like you remember,” he gasped. “It’s all in there. _You’re_ in there. You’re just... _hiding_. Or _lost_. Or... I don’t know. But I miss you, I miss you so much.”

“What if you--” The sinner swallowed around the obstruction in his throat. “--don’t like me very much anymore? I… the… I’m _different_.” He rustled his black wings, the feathers hard and sharp like knives. “I’m not the angel you used to know.”

Tony shook his head, finally turning to look at the sinner. “I love you,” he said. “Even if you’ve changed. We’ve changed before, we _were_ changing. _I_ changed, and you didn’t love me any less for it.” His own wings spread wide and then folded again. “You’re still my angel.”

He reached up and took the halo from its spot where it had been since he returned to earth. He hadn’t taken it off, not for any reason, clinging to its cold metal even when it gave no comfort. That… wasn’t how it was supposed to be. “I pray to God, and all God shows me is you,” he said. “You’re the answer, I just… don’t know how. Take it. I’m… not supposed to have it all the time.” He held it out, the celestial metal resting against the name of his palm. It throbbed there, like a lock without a key, a question with no answer. He offered it to Tony.

Tony looked at it as if its touch might burn him. “The last time I wore it, they took you away from me,” he whispered. “They hurt you. I can’t... I can’t let that happen again.”

“It gives me no comfort,” the sinner said. “I don’t feel my Grace. I don’t… have any left. Maybe it would give you some comfort.” _That I can’t seem to give you, either._ “Please. I’ll stay right here.” He held it out again, almost, but not quite, thrusting it at Tony.

Tony searched the sinner’s face, looking for something. “Only God and fools are certain,” he murmured, and then reached up to take the halo from the sinner’s grasp.

The sinner didn’t always know a lot about the human world -- Tony was endlessly fascinated with the cleverness of humans, had sometimes studied the workings and ways of such things as fermentation, circuitry, broadcasting -- but he knew a little about electricity. Even an angel could be shocked.

Something slammed into the celestial metal as soon as Tony’s fingers brushed it, like a crackle of a summer storm and the sinner swayed, startled. The halo slipped into Tony’s palm, the curve resting against the angelic script on Tony’s skin.

The sinner’s palm sizzled, the pain and glory of it fresh and new, like the first moment it appeared, when Tony pressed a kiss to Bucky’s hand.

_To have and to hold…_

He couldn’t let go. His eyes widened with shock and he stared at Tony, who seemed similarly locked in place. There was… _so much_ Grace. It was leaking out, through him, through Tony, racing through the celestial metal, surrounding them. The air was thick with it, glowing and brilliant.

_To love and to cherish..._

“Are you doing this?” the sinner demanded, voice thick with awe.

Tony shook his head, eyes wide and wild. He stared at the sinner like a starving man might stare at a feast, like a dying man staring at his only hope of salvation. “Angel...”

_… from this day forward..._

“Of all God’s creations,” Bucky said, and he looked, really looked. Past the haze of fear and remembered pain. Past the wrath for the things that had been done to him. Past the guilt that he had done this, he had _deserved_ it, to see. See what God had been trying to show him, the whole time. “I love you the best.” He was panting for air, his lungs felt squashed flat. “Tony. _Tony…_ ” He arched back, wings spreading wide in challenge. “Tell me, help me… Tony!”

“I’m here, Bucky,” Tony said. “My angel. I love you. I love you, of all the Lord’s creations.” Tony pulled at their joined grip on the halo, until Bucky was close enough for Tony’s free arm to circle his wait. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m so _angry_ ,” Bucky confessed between clenched teeth. “I… can’t forgive them. Red Skull is gone, as if he never was, and Zola… and I _can’t_ forgive it. It’s changing me, it burns inside. Look at me! I’m a shadow of what I was. And I’m _afraid_. I’m _broken_ , Tony. Like a doll, thrown aside. I can’t accept my Grace. I don’t deserve it. All I have left… everything… that’s you. All I have is you, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose it if I don’t please you.”

“Oh, my love.” Tony held him closer. “You’re not a shadow, you’re a flame. You’re beautiful, and you deserve Grace more than ever. But with it or not, you’re not losing me. I’m not giving up on you, not ever. You’re mine, and I’m yours.” He brushed a kiss across Bucky’s cheek. “Leave the forgiveness to God. Just... be with me.”

Bucky reached up with his left hand, touched the spot where Tony had kissed him, then traced that metal thumb along Tony’s lip. Tony hadn’t kissed him, not really, not with longing and need, since Red Skull had taken him. Bucky chest swelled, like invisible bands around it were snapping. “Kiss me, Nephil,” he whispered. “Back into your arms isn’t that far to Fall.”

Tony’s breath caught, and then he was kissing Bucky, kissing him with every bit of longing and desperate need that had been missing in all that time. Tony’s tongue danced at the seam of Bucky’s lips, then slipped into his mouth to seek out every curve and dip and swell, claiming him. His fingers brushed through Bucky’s hair, then slid downward to caress his wings. “My angel.”

Each kiss, each touch, burned him, fiery trails over his skin, across his feathers. He raised a hand and touched Tony’s temple, brushed his thumb over the scar there. “Sometimes I miss your horns,” he whispered. “Come back to bed with me. Create love with me. Remind me of who I am, and who I want to be, and who I can be again.”

Tony kissed him again, slow and easy and warm, stepping back toward the bed, pulling Bucky with him. “Yes,” he murmured between kisses. “Yes and yes and yes. Whatever you need, whatever you want. I’m yours, and you’re mine.” He tugged, and they both fell onto the bed together, Bucky landing on top of Tony’s body. “Love me, angel.”

“Always,” Bucky said. “Even in the pit, I loved you. Even in my despair, I loved you.” He looked down at the halo between them. “Pesky thing.” He plucked it from Tony’s hand and tossed it gently into the air where it hovered over both of them, glowing like a newborn star. “You have to tell me… this is good, I’m doing good, I… never lost faith in you. But I lost faith in myself. Please, tell me.” He kissed Tony’s mouth, dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose, on each cheek. Licked the scars where his horns had once been. Down again, to sample Tony’s mouth, and lower, nuzzling at Tony’s throat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony breathed. His hands curled in Bucky’s hair, moved restlessly over Bucky’s back and wings. “I’ll tell you every day, every hour, every minute. You’re always good, so very good. You make me feel like I could be good, too. You’re so-- _oh_ , that feels so nice. Angel, Bucky, love...” He found Bucky’s hand and drew it to him, kissed his Name in Bucky’s palm, flicked his tongue against it, making it spark and shiver.

“You _are_ good,” Bucky told him, earnestly. “You do so much for me…” He could feel his lips moving, twitching, until he gave Tony a soft smile. “I should really pay what I owe. Our accounts are getting behind.” He gently tugged his hand out of Tony’s grip and slid it down until he was cupping Tony, letting those sparkles tingle along Tony’s cock. “Tony.” Each cry of Tony’s name sent up vibrations and reverbs until his palm was fluttering over the sensitive skin there. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

“Oh!” Tony arched into the touch, seeking more pressure. “Oh, sweetheart, so good...” His hands were restless, moving everywhere, touching as much of Bucky as they could reach. “No accounts for this. It’s a gift.” He lifted his head to capture Bucky’s mouth in another kiss, breathless and frantic. “Thank you, my love. Thank you for being mine.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky told him, “when you come undone like this. When you look at me like that. Like I might have value.” He made his way down Tony’s body, kissing at each inch of him, each nip like a prayer, each taste a blessing. His perfectly imperfect body that God had created given all due praise. He found that spot on Tony’s hip that made him writhe with need, frantic with desire.

He ran his fingertip up the length of Tony’s cock, tracing the vein that stood out against that hardened flesh until he was teasing around the ridge, each bump and wrinkle precious and lovely.

Tony gasped and arched, his hand fisting in Bucky’s hair. “Oh, Bucky, sweetheart, you’re so good, so good to me. You make me feel so good... please!” He writhed, mouth open to pant out another plea. “Touch me, angel, _please_.”

Bucky nipped Tony’s hipbone, leaving a sharp little pink mark on the skin there. “I _am_ touching you,” he teased, keeping his hand light, a feathering stroke. He licked at Tony’s skin, blew cool air over the moist flesh, raising goosebumps. “Can’t you feel it?” He skated two fingers across Tony’s belly, watching, fascinated, as the muscles there jumped and twitched. There was power there, that he could do this, unravel his demon lover with a few light strokes of his hand.

“When did you-- Oh, Bucky, yes. There, like that, yes, it’s so _good_. You’re perfect, angel, just... oh, please, more...” Tony wriggled and arched and rocked his hips, trying to get more touches, or to make them firmer, and his hand never stopped stroking over whatever of Bucky it could reach, and the words spilling out of his mouth were mingled praise and pleas, until he was so desperate that he could barely form words at all, just endearments and Bucky’s name, over and over, panted like a prayer.

“Everything… anything…” Bucky ran both hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them wide, staring in wonder at the demon, his love, his lover. His gift from God that he could never, ever deserve, that he would take and be grateful. That he would give thanks for with every breath. His prayer and faith and devotion. He dragged himself along Tony’s body until he closed his lips over Tony’s mouth again, rubbing and rutting, their cocks aligning.

He took Tony’s right hand in his, led them both down to stroke them together. “Tony… my Tony… oh, that’s… that’s it. So good, so great… Tony…”

“I’m here,” Tony breathed against Bucky’s ear. “I’m right here with you, love, and you feel so good, so perfect. You’re so amazing, my sweet angel. Come with me. I’m close, I’m... Come with me, can you?”

Bucky rubbed them together, his fingers joined with Tony’s as they chased sensation. Bucky added a little squeeze, twisted their linked hands over the heads, and--

It was brilliant and beautiful, wise and wonderful, every sunrise and sunset, the birth of every star. Bucky felt pleasure, rising from his toes until it swept through every fiber of his being, every nerve and sinew, every bone singing with simple joy. “Tony!” He threw his head back and gave voice to his pleasure, his passion, that secret chord of praise and alleluia. And when Tony’s voice twined with his, a rumble of hidden notes, it was the sweetest music they’d ever made together.

“Oh, Bucky, my precious, my sweet, my angel,” Tony panted, petting at Bucky’s hair and wings. “You’re good, you’re so, so good, and I love you. So much.” He nuzzled at Bucky’s ear and neck, kissing and nipping as he clung tight.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Bucky said, brushing his lips over Tony’s ear. “I still love you best.”

Tony laughed, breathless still from their lovemaking, and squeezed Bucky close. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

Bucky’s throat was tight with love, it was hard to talk around it, but for Tony… “Thank you for giving me a place to come back to.”

“Always,” Tony promised. “I’m yours for eternity.”


End file.
